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MARGUERITE OF ANGOULEME 



Women of the Valois 

Court 



BY 

IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND 

500 5-10 - 

^res;enteb tip 



-DC_. 



WITH PORTRAITS 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1894 




MARGUERITE OF ANGOULEME 



Women of the Valois 

Court 



BY 



IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND 



TRANSLATED BY 

ELIZABETH GILBERT MARTIN 



WITH PORTRAITS 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1894 



,■3 



COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



trow directory 
Printing and bookbinding company 

NEW YORK 



CONTENTS 



First Part 

MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Introductiox ; 3 

II. The Youth of Marguerite of Angouleme 17 

III. The Madrid Captivity 26 

IV. The Beginnings of the Reformation -. . . 44 

V. The Last Years of Marguerite of Angouleme... 67 

VI. Poems and Letters of Marguerite of Angouleme 74 

VII. The Heptameron 92 

VIII. Conclusion 108 



Second Part 

catherine de' medici and her contemporaries 
at the french court 

I. Introduction 123 

II. The Historians of Catherine de' Medici 135 

III. The Childhood of Catherine de' Medici 149 

IV. Catherine de' Medici at the Court of Francis I. 161 
V. Diana of Poitiers 175 

V 



vi CONTENTS 



CHAPTER FAGS 

VI. Mary Stl'art 190 

VII. Cathekine de' Medici Regent 206 

VIII. Elisabeth of France, Wife of Philip II 222 

IX. The Childhood of Marguerite de Valois 235 

X. Jeanne d' Albret 248 

XI. The Marriage of Marguerite de Valois 261 

XII. Catherine de' Medici and the Saint Bartholo- 
mew 271 

XIII. Elisabeth of Austria and Charles IX 281 

XIV. Louise de Vaudemont and Henry III 293 

XV. Marguerite of Valois and Henry of Navarre. 304 

XVI. Catherine de' Medici and the Day of the Bar- 
ricades. 321 

XVII. The Death of Catherine de' Medici 329 

XVIII. Conclusion , 336 



LIST OF PORTRAITS 



Marguerite of Angouleme . . Frontispiece 

Catherine de'Medici . . . . . 123 

Diane de Poitiers ..... 175 

Marie Stuart, when Dauphiness of France . 194 

Elisabeth of France . . . . . 222 

Jeanne D'Albret ..... 248 



First Part 

Marguerite, Sister of Francis I 



MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



INTRODUCTION 

FRANCIS I. had exclaimed that a court without 
women is a year without springtime, and a 
springtime without roses. Adieu dark dungeons, 
long ennuis of a sombre and solitary life! The 
chatelaines, hitherto relegated to the depths of their 
provinces, obey the summons of the knightly King; 
they come to adorn by their presence those fairy- 
like palaces where life glides by in never-ending 
festivities. Appearing on the political scene, they 
play a great r61e there from the very start. The 
women of the sixteenth century have an excep- 
tional attraction. Christian in certain aspects of 
their character, Pagan in others, they confound the 
Gospel with mythology, and issue from the churches 
to go and consult fortune-tellers and astrologers. 
Taking an active part in every event of this epoch 
so full of contrasts and agitations, wherein, to use 
Montaigne's expression, human nature was shaken 
in every direction, they are amazons and poets, they 
brave fatigue and danger, they rule by wit and 

3 



MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



beauty, by knowledge and by courage; they have 
the seductions of Armida. 

In this strange, brilliant society, where erudition 
gains admission as a luxury, and the audacities of 
thought are welcomed as a new enjoyment; where 
the most unalloyed expression of social maturity 
and the immortal blossom of art begin perceptibly 
to unfold, and yet w^here a depth of violence and 
roughness amounting to barbarism is hidden beneath 
a surface of exquisite politeness, one sometimes 
inhales a breath of poesy, both sentimental and 
sensual, and sometimes an odor of blood. This 
epoch which has so many sufferings and so many 
pleasures, so many tears and so many bursts of 
laughter, where the gaiety of Rabelais twinkles 
amidst paroxysms of fanaticism and cries of hatred, 
where the passions remain savage although the fash- 
ions have a subtile grace; this picturesque epoch, 
dramatic above all others, presents itself under 
aspects which are by turns grandiose and grotesque, 
alluring and horrible. What characterizes it is a 
blended elegance and cruelty. Christian mysticism 
is united with the love of form which is the cult of 
paganism ; the grossest superstitions blend with the 
most daring scepticism. Religion and debauchery 
take possession of the same souls. Tormented, 
uneasy, inconsistent century, to which may be 
applied the verdict of La Bruy^re on Rabelais: 
"'Tis a monstrous mingling of fire and ingenious 
morality and filthy corruption; where it is bad it 



INTRODUCTION 



goes far beyond the worst, it charms the scum of 
the people; where it is good, it is even exquisite 
and excellent, perhaps the most delicate of viands." 

In this social world of the Valois, so curious to 
observe from the point of view of ideas and man- 
ners, all the heroines who have made their mark 
are worthy of the profoundest study. What variety 
there is in these feminine types, where one discovers 
every shade of human passion, and where, amidst 
the most tragical events, vices and virtues are 
developed under the conditions best fitted to illus- 
trate them. If the levity of many of the beauties 
who shone at the court made them deserve Bran- 
t6me for a biographer, there were also women in 
this century where good and evil elbow each other, 
who are, as the Chronique d^Anjou says of Claude 
of France, "a true mirror of chastity, sanctity, and 
innocence." There are noble Christian women, 
who, arrayed in their modesty, are the glory of their 
husbands, the ornaments of their families, and who 
shed around them a fragrance of grace and goodness ; 
there are women of superior intelligence who, rising 
above the prejudices of their age, soar into the 
spheres where the soul is purified and made strong. 

To the foremost rank of these elect women belongs 
the Pearl of Valois^ the sister of Francis I., the 
mother of Jeanne d'Albret, the grandmother of 
Henry IV., the Marguerite of Marguerites^ "fourth 
Grace, and tenth Muse," as her contemporaries 
called her. To Francis she was the most unwearied 



MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



of servants, the noblest of friends, the most generous 
of sisters. 

"In the family, as it is dreamed of by hearts 
enamoured of the ideal, there is one being who plays 
a wholly unique part, and whose influence upon 
the young man has somewhat charming in it: it is 
the sister. If she is younger than her brother, she 
is almost a daughter to him; if she is older, she is 
almost a mother. . . . When death snatches our 
parents from us, with whom does memory bid us 
seek them? With our sister. Communing with 
her we evoke the days that are no more, the beings 
for whom we weep, and, pressing her to our hearts, 
it seems to us that we embrace also our father and 
our mother and all our vanished youth. ..." 

The author of these touching lines, M. Legouv^,^ 
adds as a confirmation of what he has just said: 
"Well, this portrait of the sister, with her train of 
delicate and beneficent influences, has once been 
realized in history under the form of Marguerite 
of Navarre, the sister of Francis I. Francis and 
Marguerite were brought up together by their 
mother, Louise of Savoy, at the castle of Etampes. 
They were united by similar tastes for poetry and 
science, and as she was by two years the elder, her 
tenderness was blended with that maternal solici- 
tude which befits so well the youth of sisters." 
, History should not separate from each other two 



1 Ilistoire morale des femmes. 



INTRODUCTION 



types which summarize a society of which they were 
the most brilliant personages. Francis I. marks 
the transition between the Middle Ages and the 
modern world; Marguerite is the genius of the 
future, the modern woman with her noblest attri- 
butes. To study these two characters, which have 
some points of similarity and many more of unlike- 
ness, is to examine under its different phases an 
epoch which, in spite of all, has left a profound and 
durable impression upon France. 

A nature full of vehemence both in good and 
evil, Francis I. is the hero of an age of moral and 
material unrest, wherein manners, ideas, and beliefs 
are all in a chaotic state, and where humanity after 
a gestation full of anguish is bringing forth mod- 
ern society with cruel throes. A character ver- 
satile and various, as Montaigne would say, he has 
the impulses of generosity and the base designs of 
egotism; at once poetic and trivial, delicate and 
gross, chivalric and Machiavellian, he passes in his 
amours from a refined mysticism to the lewdness 
of a trooper. One day he is as fanatical as the 
most ignorant monk, and the next he has the scep- 
tical bearing of a libertine. He wavers between 
Calvinism and the tendencies of an inquisitor; he 
protects Protestants in Germany and sends them 
to the block in France. The defender of the faith is 
the Mussulman's closest ally. To-day he shelters 
the art of printing, to-morrow he would like to 
destroy all books. " Under the guise of an irresist- 



8 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



ible charm, under an exterior rich in promise, we 
shall find a soul all instinct, inconstant passion, and 
caprice. The sensibility, the generosity, lie at the 
surface ; underneath is an insatiable thirst for pleas- 
ure, and an absorbing selfishness. He will deceive, 
oppress, or abandon all that he may have loved. 
Even art, which wins his most constant affection, 
touches him by his imagination, not his soul; by 
voluptuous grace and outward show, not by the 
ideal and divine."^ 

We must regard with much suspicion the admira- 
tion inspired in certain panegyrists by what they 
have agreed to call the chivalrous sentiments of Fran- 
cis I. The Middle Ages are past, and we are no 
longer in the days of the knights of Charlemagne 
and the heroes of the Round Table. The crowned 
paladin, the very Christian King, knighted by 
Bayard, evokes in vain the ancient legends, and 
enthuses over the Amadis of the Gauls. The 
sixteenth century is not the epoch of troubadours. 
When Francis I. and Charles V. challenge each 
other to single combat, and heralds at arms bear the 
cartels across France and Spain, blazon on breast, 
and gonfalon in hand, people smile at these remi- 
niscences of the past. They are the last vestiges 
of a time which is disappearing. Whatever they 
may say about it, no one believes any longer in 
platonic loves and ideal adventures. Rabelais does 

1 Henri Martin, Histoire de France, t. viii. 



/ 

INTRODUCTION 



justice to all these exaggerations, relegating them 
to Nonsense Island {lie des Lmiternes). Blow a blast 
on Roland's horn ; it will not awaken the dead gen- 
erations; chivalry is but a memory. Yet a few 
years and Michael Cervantes will write Bon Quixote. 

It must be admitted, nevertheless, that the old 
customs about to sink into the gulf of oblivion had 
had their prestige, and the sovereign who, if not in 
reality, yet in appearance, was their brilliant repre- 
sentative, was bound to exercise a strong attraction 
over the minds of his contemporaries. In spite of 
his faults and vices, his inconsequent policy as 
versatile and violent as himself, his name calls up a 
world of alluring memories. At his voice a new 
civilization, dissolute, immoral, but embellished 
with every splendor, arises on the soil strewn with 
the refuse of the Middle Ages. Magnificent dwell- 
ings, pleasing manors, spring up as by enchantment: 
Fontainebleau, La Muette, Saint-Germain, Villers- 
Cotterets, Chantilly, Follembray, and that palace of 
fairies created in the depths of the forest of Sologne, 
the marvellous and fantastic Chambord. 

Though one agrees with M. Henri Martin that 
"France and this man who represents it, not by 
his inmost qualities, but by his external gifts and 
his defects, failed together of a grand destiny," yet 
he must none the less declare that, in spite of every- 
thing, few kings have preserved so much prestige 
in the memory of peoples as the courtly and magnifi- 
cent monarch of the Renaissance. Shall nioclei-n 



10 MABGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



historians be more rigid towards him than the 
brethren of his victims? "O pious spectator," says 
Theodore de Beza, as he numbers him among the 
reformers, "shudder not at the sight of this adver- 
sary! Does he not merit this honor who, having 
driven barbarism from the world, put in its place 
the three tongues (Hebrew, Greek, and Latin), and 
good literature, in order to open the doors of the 
new edifice?" No one can judge Francis I. impar- 
tially who does not take into account the prejudices 
of his times; and it must not be forgotten that at 
their coronation the Kings of France swore to exter- 
minate heretics. Men are weighted by the errors 
of their age, and many crimes must be ascribed, less 
to individual wickedness, than to general folly. 
Francis I. was, after all, neither worse nor better 
than his epoch, and his life summarizes its chief 
contrasts. 

Marguerite of Angouleme, on the contrary, showed 
herself superior to her age. She had the presenti- 
ments, the intuitions of the future. As we have 
said already, she is a woman essentially modern in 
her aspirations, ideas, morals, and even by her 
sufferings, and it is fitting to regard her under this 
aspect. "The image of Marguerite remains en- 
graven on the mind as the symbol of all that was 
noble, good, generous, and liberal in the sixteenth 
century, of all the graces which win for princes the 
hearts of their people, especially of those simple 
graces which seem to banish admiration so as to 



INTRODUCTION 11 



leave more room for sympathy, and the charm of 
Avhich continues to allure even posterity throughout 
the centuries." ^ A loving, amiable, delicate spirit, 
she casts a glimmer of poetry over the court of her 
brother, of whom she was the good angel. As 
Sainte-Beuve has said so well: "She is a person 
of real piety of heart, of knowledge, and of human- 
ity, who joins a cheerful enjoyment of humor to a 
serious life, forming a very sincere ensemble of the 
whole." She remains faithful to her duty in the 
midst of a voluptuous and corrupt society where 
everything concurs to over-excite the senses and 
imagination, and her contemporaries are unanimous 
in their recognition of her virtue. All the great 
minds of her century take pleasure in doing her 
justice. In dedicating to her the third book of 
Pantagruel^ Rabelais attributes to her a " rapt, trans- 
ported, and ecstatic spirit, ' ' and places her yet living 
in the celestial dwellings. Erasmus wrote to her, 
in 1525: "I have long admired in you many emi- 
nent gifts of God, a prudence worthy of a philoso- 
pher, chastity, moderation, piety, an invincible 
strength of soul, and a marvellous contempt of all 
perishable things. And who would not consider 
with admiration in the sister of so great a king, 
qualities which can hardly be found in priests and 
monks ? ' ' Dolet addressed her a Latin ode, of which 
the following is a translation — 

1 M. Luro, Conferences sur Marguerite cVAngouIeme. 



12 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



" To the Queen of Navarre. 

" Minerva was alarmed for her children ; she was 
disquieted by fear lest the stupid common people 
and men, strangers to the liberal arts, might treat 
roughly, and cause to suffer, the elegant minds 
polished and ennobled by literature, that she wished 
to send into Fmnce from the cave of the Muses. 
She offered thee to the men of letters — thee, whose 
protection and authority would cover them with a 
safe buckler from the violence of a blended populace, 
and the threats of furious enemies. Is it to be 
wondered at if, having taken the learned under 
thine aegis, at the prayer of Pallas, thou dost honor, 
love, and defend them, and employ thy power for 
their assistance ? Let them tremble, let them burst 
with rage, those wretches covetous of the glory 
which thence accrues to thee, who seek to soil the 
splendor of thy famous name. Thou wilt be recom- 
mended to posterity by the praises of that illustrious 
band of Minerva's sons who have been sheltered 
beneath thy far-reaching protection." 

Marguerite merits this dithyramb. Never, in 
fact, is she happier than when saving a victim 
from persecution, in recompensing a poor man of 
letters, in relieving an artist's discouragement, or 
giving an asylum to a proscript. As Brant6me 
says, she is "a princess of broad mind and great 
ability both by nature and acquirements," and the 
most learned men of the kingdom honor her so 



INTRODUCTION 13 



greatly that they style her their Maecenas. Her 
influence is always good. Clemency is on her lips. 
The desire to do good animates all she does. In a 
depraved age she finds means to approach the ideal 
woman such as we dream of her to-day: gentle, 
sensible, enlightened, virtuous without prudery, 
religious without fanaticism, learned without ped- 
antry. Erudition detracts nothing from the easy 
bearing and natural grace of her mind. She hides 
her knowledge instead of displaying it, and in her 
writings gives not a hint that she possesses it. 
Everywhere and always she has that indulgence, 
that amiability, that charm of benevolence and re- 
pose, which makes woman the consoler of our pains. 
At first glance, Marguerite's life seems a series 
of joys and excitements. Sister of the King of 
France, and herself a queen, admired by courtiers 
justly enthusiastic for her merits and virtues, she 
appears brilliant and honored, whether in her 
brother's palaces or the picturesque chateau of Pau, 
fronting that splendid horizon and those moun- 
tains which appeal to the imagination of poets. On 
all sides of her resound music, verses, ingenious 
dialogues, and amusing gossip. Every one takes 
turns in rhyming, singing, story-telling. But how 
many griefs and pains, deceptions and anxieties, 
there are in the course of this existence, whose 
woof seems at first glance made of silk and gold! 
As a young girl. Marguerite is married against her 
will to the Duke of Alengon, and fails to find in 



14 MARGUEEITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



her husband the moral qualities she had a right to 
expect. "Francis I. seizes her daughter b}^ this 
marriage, and shuts the child up in the chateau of 
Plessis-lez-Tours, lest she should be espoused to 
some prince not of his choosing. When she attains 
her twelfth year, he promises her to the Prince of 
Cleves in spite of Marguerite's entreaties. Is Fran- 
cis I. a monster, then? No; he is a feudal brother. 
A thousand facts prove that he loves his sister sin- 
cerely; but he loves her as an eldest son was able 
to love in such a constitution of the family. To 
appropriate all the common patrimony, to sequester 
his niece if she offends him, to interfere with vio- 
lence in the child's marriage, — all this seems to him 
to belong to the rights and almost the duties of his 
position as head of the family and as sovereign."^ 

Marguerite is profoundly afflicted by the sad and 
odious spectacle of the vices, abuses, and crimes 
which unroll before her. Scaffolds whereon Protes- 
tants are burned by a slow fire while singing canti- 
cles, constantly meet her eyes. How can a woman 
full of pity for human suffering behold without 
indignation the horrible torture of the strappado 
with which the persecuting monarch edifies his 
court? She who esteems so highly the dignity of 
thought, the independence of opinions, and the lib- 
erty of faith, must be plunged into consternation by 
the sight of so many abominable cruelties ! 

"*• M. Legouve, Histoire morale des femmes. 



INTRODUCTION 15 



It is salutary to reflect on all that is vexatious in 
careers that are in appearance the most highly privi- 
leged, and to know what griefs and miseries are 
covered by the domes of splendid palaces. The mel- 
ancholy so well described in our days by poets of the 
romantic school belongs to all countries and to every 
age. No woman ever felt its attacks more keenly 
than Marguerite. The gaiety in her stories lies on 
the surface only. Often the recital of an amusing 
or a gay adventure is followed by a sad reflection 
on the uncertainty surrounding the problems of 
human destiny, the suffering that is the inseparable 
comrade of delight, the dregs of bitterness in every 
cup of pleasure. Marguerite suffers through her 
imagination, her mind, and her heart. She is relig- 
ious, yet troubled by disquietudes unknown to the 
generation of women who preceded her. There are 
moments when she is beset by doubt, and when she 
wavers thus between Catholicism and the new doc- 
trines, her conscience is disturbed by interior con- 
flicts. She is one of those women who gaze 
anxiously towards both life and death, and who are 
tormented by their excessive intelligence and sus- 
ceptibility. Her passion for poetry affords her con- 
solations, but it also develops in her delicate and 
impressionable soul the faculty of moral suffering. 
The life of such women is necessarily doomed to 
sadness. The woes of others pain them like their 
own. Their destiny is never to find repose but in 
the tomb. 



16 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

If Marguerite was surrounded by homage, she had 
cruel enemies as well. Fanatics, exasperated by her 
display of tolerant sentiments, pursued her with 
implacable hatred, and, desiring to see her under a 
cloud of heresy, they neglected no means to bring 
about her ruin. But the woman whom the in- 
stincts of her heart led beyond her age in the path 
of progress, teaching her to understand tolerance 
like L'H6pital, like Henry IV., like Bayle himself; 
the artist enamoured of the ideal, who turned away 
from an abyss of mire and blood to contemplate 
pure light, has a right to the respect of posterity. 
The more depraved and cruel that her contem- 
poraries appear to us, the greater is the charm and 
prestige of her rare qualities. The Pearl of the 
Valois shines by contrast. She is a precious jewel 
set in iron. 



II 

THE YOUTH OF MAEGUERITE OF ANGOULE]ME 

MARGUERITE of Valois, daughter of Charles 
of Orleans, Count of Angoiileme, and of 
Louise of Savoy, was born in the old castle of the 
city of Angouleme, April 11, 1492. Two years 
later, September 12, 1494, "the town of Cognac finds 
itself in great jollity, and there is no vine-dresser 
so poor that he does not toss his cap in air in sign 
of welcome, and toast in his best wine and hand- 
somest goblet the heir just born to the Count of 
Angouleme, the kindly lord of this little region 
renowned for the gaiety of its men and the beauty 
of its women." ^ The brother and sister were edu- 
cated together with the utmost care at the side of 
their mother, who became a widow at eighteen. 
Marguerite was remarkabl-e from her childhood, not 
only for her natural graces, but the distinction of 
her mind, and her taste for letters. She talked with 
equal facility in French, Italian, Spanish, English, 
and German. Later she learned Greek and Hebrew. 
In spite of her joyousness and gaiety, she preferred 

1 M. de Lescure, Les Amours de Franrois F''. 
17 



18 MABGUEEITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



theology to all other studies, and had from childhood 
that propensity to mysticism which recurs even in 
the midst of her most trifling writings. 

To acquire the taste for poetry, which was to be 
one of the greatest charms of her existence, she had 
only to read and re-read the verses of her great- 
uncle, Charles of Orleans, the author of the delight- 
ful strophes which commence thus : — 

" Le temps a laisse son manteau 
Pe veut, de froidure et de pluie ; 
II s'est veta de broderie, 
De soleil riant, clair et beau." ^ 

Marguerite was twelve years old when she first 
appeared at the court of Louis XII. with her brother, 
who, young as he was, already gave promise of what 
he was to be. His mother, Louise of Savoy, had a 
boundless admiration and affection for him. On 
her knees before this son, destined one day to be her 
King, her protector, avenger, and her pride, she 
flattered him with a fervor resembling the ecstasy 
of devotion. But one sentiment, maternal love, is 
exhibited in her journal, which contains but few 
pages, and goes no further than the year 1522. The 
dangers which her son may incur are what chiefly 
occupy her. Her style, diy enough where it touches 



1 The weather has dropped its mantle 
Of wind and cold and rain ; 
And dressed itself in broidery, 
In radiant sunshine, clear and fair. 



THE YOUTH OF MARGUERITE 19 



other subjects, takes on here the most affecting tone. 
At the age of seven, the young Prince was run away 
with by a mettlesome horse. His mother relates 
the dangerous adventure as follows: "On the feast 
of the Conversion of St. Paul, January 25, 1501, at 
about half-past two in the afternoon, my king, my 
lord, my Csesar, and my son, being near Amboise, 
was run away with across the fields by a hackney 
given him by Marshal de Gy^, and the danger was 
so great that those who were present esteemed it 
irreparable. Nevertheless, God, the protector of 
widows and defender of orphans, would not abandon 
me, knowing that if chance had so suddenly deprived 
me of my love, I would have been too unfortunate." 
In the same journal Louise of Savoy lets us know 
that her son's favorite little dog "Hapegay, who 
was loving and faithful to his master, died October 
24, 1502." And she attaches more importance to 
this death than to the birth of Queen Anne's 
daughter, which she mentions at the same time. 

Marguerite shared her mother's sentiments, and 
her affection for her young brother likewise partook 
of idolatry. Louis XII. married her to Charles III., 
Duke of Alen9on, whom she did not love. The 
wedding was celebrated at Blois, December 1, 1509, 
"Avith as much pomp and state as if she had been the 
King's daughter." But Duke Charles was not the 
ideal his young wife had dreamed of. She found 
consolation in her affection for her brother, and 
when he ascended the throne, she more than shared 



20 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

the admiration which all France entertained for the 
young monarch. 

M. Henri Martin has very well said :" There is a 
unique combination of antiquity and chivalry in 
the brilliant apparition of the King of the Renais- 
sance which resembles the fusion of ancient and 
Middle Age art in the monuments of that period. 
His strength, address, and intrepidity correspond to 
a figure like that of a demigod or a hero of the 
Round Table. His large and pleasing features, his 
brilliant eyes, and charming smile; his ingenious, 
bright, and active mind, curious about everything, 
as ready as his century itself for every novelty ; his 
vivid, glowing imagination; his ardently enthusi- 
astic, frank, and generous heart, easily responsive 
to the gentler emotions, all add to the immense 
attraction exercised by this young man, trained by 
a tutor instructed in all the knowledge of Italy." 

Italy is the land of his chivalric dreams, the land 
he points out to the Venetian ambassadors, saying: 
"I will either conquer or die there." He crosses 
the Alps and acquires the glory of a new Charle- 
magne by the battle of Marignan. Louise of Savoy 
and Marguerite tremble with pride. " On September 
13, 1515," says Madame Louise in her journal, "my 
son vanquished and set at naught the Swiss near 
Milan, beginning the combat at five in the afternoon, 
and continuing it all night and until eleven o'clock 
next morning; and I start this very day from 
Amboise to go on foot to Our Lady of Fontaines, 



THE YOUTH OF MARGUERITE 21 

to recommend to her what I love better than mys'elf, 
that is, my dear son, the glorious and triumphant 
Csesar, the conqueror of the Helvetians. Item, on 
that very day of September 13, 1515, between seven 
and eight o'clock in the evening, at several places 
in Flanders there was seen a flambeau of fire the 
length of a lance, which seemed as if it must fall 
upon the houses; but it was so bright that a hun- 
dred torches could not shed so much light." Wholly 
given over to the intoxications of love and glory, 
handsome, witty, as ready for gallant speeches as 
sword- thrusts, believing nothing impossible to his 
audacity, the victor of Marignan awakened a cry of 
enthusiasm not from France alone, but from all 
Europe. 

The magnificent opening of his reign is certainly 
one of the most brilliant epochs of our history. 
There are times in the life of peoples when they 
grow young again, one may say, by the youth of 
their masters, and when, full of illusions and self- 
confidence, they spring toward the future with a 
joyous ardor. A morning light seems to illumine 
the horizon, and the fires of dawn are reflected in 
the armor of the warriors. Francis I. had brought 
back with him from Italy an impression of dazzling 
splendor. It was the hour when old Leonardo da 
Vinci "was majestically ending his career like a 
star which slowly descends towards the west with- 
out having lost one of its beams"; when were 
triumphing in all their glory those incomparable 



22 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



geniuses, Michael Angelo and Raphael, "both of 
them so happily called by names borrowed from the 
celestial hierarchy by the prophetic instinct of their 
parents; one the terrible angel of the divine war- 
fare, of the lightning clouds of Sinai; the other the 
spirit of gentleness, serene light, and harmony, the 
white vision of Tabor. When a picture by Raphael 
arrived in France, Francis I. gave it a reception 
as ceremonious as the kings of other days could 
have done to the holiest relics coming from the 
East. It was a mark of high favor to be admitted 
to behold the masterpiece before the day when it 
was unveiled to the hungry glances of the court in 
the richest gallery of the palace, and to the flourish 
of trumpets."^ 

A group of Italian artists came to establish them- 
selves in France. Painting arrived there with 
Leonardo da Vinci, Rosso, Primaticcio, and carv- 
ing and sculpture with Benvenuto Cellini and 
Bramante. 

"It suffices to glance over the accounts of the 
royal treasury or the descriptions of fetes as they 
are reproduced in the chronicles to get a just idea 
of the sumptuousness of apparel and the infinite art 
employed on ornaments and furniture. The armor 
of a knight, his cuirass, his arm-pieces, were covered 
with perfectly chiselled goldsmith's work; his steel 
helmet glittered with gold and silver wire, and was 

1 M. Henri Martin, Histoire de France, t. viii. 



THE YOUTH OF MARGUERITE 23 

surmounted by waving plumes. In time of peace 
his velvet cap was fringed with pearls and rubies; 
his tunic of silk or fine Florence cloth was thrown 
across his shoulders. At the courts of Fontainebleau 
and Amboise the ornaments bore traces of this taste 
for the Florentine Renaissance; one saw nothing 
but tables of silver and ivory, pearls, chased cups, 
bronze statues scattered among clumps of trees. "^ 

The most brilliant woman in this dazzling scene 
was she whom Francis I. called his Mignanne, la 
Marguerite des Marguerites. She not only protected 
learned and literary men and artists, but she took 
part also in affairs of state, and frequently gave 
the best of advice to her brother. "Her discourse 
was such," says Brant6me, "that the ambassadors 
who conversed with her were enraptured, and car- 
ried back great reports of it to their own country; 
herein she came to the aid of the King, her brother, 
for they always sought her after having accom- 
plished their principal embassy; and frequently, 
when he had great affairs in hand, he referred them 
to her while awaiting his determination and final 
resolution." It was thus that "by the industry of 
her noble mind and by sweetness " she surpassed the 
finesse of the most consummate diplomatists. She had 
an equal aptitude for language and for style. There 
is nothing exaggerated about the eulogies given her 
by her valet-de-chambre, the poet, Clement Marot. 



M. Capefigue, Franqois F"" et la Renaissance. 



24 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



Her taste for letters and the arts was a real pas- 
sion. Her contemporaries said she had made a 
Parnassus of her chamber. The little city of Alen- 
gon became another Athens. Although her own 
conduct was irreproachable, the Duchess had around 
her, according to the fashion of the times, a sort 
of court of love whose daily occupation it was to 
discuss questions of sentiment in subtle terms. 
These subtleties of thought and language on matters 
of the heart, these more or less ingenious discus- 
sions on love, concerning which one does not speak 
much when he truly feels it, this sentimental meta- 
physic, which is to real passion what shadow is to 
substance, all those fine conceits which afterwards 
became the fashion, were already in great esteem in 
the palaces of the sixteenth century. The poets 
who were in Marguerite's service as salaried valets- 
de-chambre incessantly treated questions of refined 
gallantry and amorous doctrine for her benefit. But 
such amusements satisfy neither mind nor heart; 
every well-ordered soul is quick to recognize their 
emptiness and vapidity. A factitious and indeter- 
minate sentiment which is neither friendship nor 
love, having neither the sanctity of the one nor the 
charm of the other, cannot long please any but 
coquettish and worthless women. Even in the 
splendor of her youth, Marguerite had familiarized 
herself with lofty thoughts and austere meditations. 
She had already those fits of sadness from which 
those who reflect on human destiny must seek 



THE YOUTH OF MARGUERITE 25 

vainly to escape. Moreover, the moment was ap- 
proaching when the horizon, so magnificent at first, 
would be overspread with clouds. Misfortune was 
soon to knock at the door of the amiable Princess, 
and the sensitive but courageous soul of this elect 
woman was destined by Providence to grow strong 
amid trials. 



in 

THE MADEID CAPTIVITY 

ALL France was in mourning. Francis I. had 
just lost the battle of Pavia (February 24, 
1525). Wounded in the leg and the face, the hero of 
Marignan had long defended himself with rare vigor, 
but after having his horse killed under him, and his 
armor all dented with gun-shots and lance-thrusts, 
he had been obliged to surrender his bloody sword 
to the Viceroy of Naples. The royal prisoner Avas 
at first taken to the fortress of Pizzighettone, on 
the Adda, between Lodi and Cremona. Subjected 
to the closest vigilance, under the guard of Captain 
Alarcon and a chosen troop of Spanish arquebusiers, 
he sought in prayer consolations for his misfortune. 
" Religious sentiments habitually showed themselves 
in every difficult circumstance of his life ; he seemed 
profoundly penetrated by them.''^ 

It is curious to observe how, in the sixteenth 
century, corrupted souls returned quickly to God 
when attacked by suffering. This king, so irrelig- 
ious in days of triumph and splendor, became devout 

1 M. Aime ChampoUion-Figeac, Captivite du roi Francois I^. 

26 



THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 27 

in adversity. His sister Marguerite wrote to him: 
" Monseigneur, if you wish your mother to remain 
in health, I entreat you to consider your own, for 
she has heard that you mean to keep this Lent 
without eating either flesh or eggs. As far as a 
very humble sister may supplicate you, I implore 
you not to do it, and to consider that fish does not 
agree with you: and believe that if you do so, she 
swears that she will likewise; and if that happens, 
I can see both of you lose strength." 

Mingling gallantry with religion, according to 
his custom, from the depths of his melancholy soli- 
tude the captive sent chivalrous regrets and ardent 
effusions to the lady of his thoughts. Mademoiselle 
d'Heilly, afterwards Duchess d'Etampes, her "whose 
device he wore under his armor on the day of Pavia," 
the woman " whom he had promised not to flee, and 
to whom as well as to honor he had been obedient in 
fighting until he was taken." ^ 

In imitation of his great-uncle, Charles of Orleans, 
he found a consolation for his ill-fortune in poetry. 
In honor of his mother, his sister, and his mistress, 
he composed epistles, rondeaux, and eclogues, and 
celebrated in touching verses the "pleasant region 
where courses the fair Loire." Inspired by a nobly 
patriotic impulse, he wrote a letter from his person 
to the parliaments of France, in which he said: 
"Since for my own honor and that of the nation I 



M. Mignet, Bivalite de Fran(;ois /«'' et cle Charles- Quint. 



28 MABGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



have preferred an honest prison to a shameful flight, 
be assured that none shall ever say that, not fortu- 
nate enough to procure the welfare of my kingdom, 
I may do it wrong through desire to escape, esteem- 
ing myself happy to dwell in prison all my life for 
the freedom of my country." 

It would be difficult to describe the sadness, pity, 
devotion, and profound affection which France then 
experienced for her King. "He is so wonderfully 
loved," wrote an envoy to Charles V., "that if his 
ransom were converted into money it could not be 
made so excessive that it would not soon be ready." 

If this was the sentiment of all France, one can 
imagine what the tender heart of Marguerite must 
have felt. She wrote to Marshal de Montmorency, 
who shared the King's captivity: "True it is that 
I shall envy you all my life because I cannot serve 
him as you are doing; for though my will surpasses 
any that is possible to you, fortune, which made me 
a woman, wrongfully restrains me by rendering the 
means difficult. But I hope that God who sees my 
desire reserves for me an hour when I shall have 
my turn; to which life, death, and all that can be 
feared or desired will be voluntarily sacrificed for 
him." At this very time. Marguerite lost her hus- 
band, the Duke of Alen^on, who had been one of 
the causes of the defeat of Pavia, and who was said 
to have died of chagrin on that account (April, 
1525). After sixteen years of marriage she remained 
a widow and childless. She forced herself to hide 



THE MADBID CAPTIVITY 29 

her grief, especially from her mother, then much 
occupied by the cares of the regency. Being unable 
to render any service, she said she would think 
herself too unhappy were she to trouble and disturb 
the mind of her Avho was performing such great 
ones. Seeking in religion the needful strength to 
overcome the most bitter trials, she addressed this 
admirable letter to her brother, at the time when he 
was about to be transferred from Pizzighettone to 
Spain : — 

" Monseigneur, the further they remove you from 
us, the greater becomes my firm hope of your deliv- 
erance and speedy return, for the hour when men's 
minds are most troubled is the hour when God 
achieves His masterpiece. . . . And if He now 
gives you, on one hand, a share in the pains which 
He has borne for you, and on the other, the grace 
to bear them patiently, I entreat you, Monseigneur, 
to believe unfalteringly that it is only to try how 
much you love Him, and to give you leisure to think 
and understand how much He loves you; for He 
desires to have your heart entirely, as for love He 
has given you His own, in order, after having united 
you to Him by tribulation, to deliver you to His 
own glory, and your consolation by the merit of 
His victorious resurrection, so that through you 
His name may be known and sanctified, not in your 
kingdom only, but in all Christendom, and even to 
the conversion of the infidels. Oh! how blessed 
will be your brief captivity, by which God will 



30 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

deliver so many souls from that of infidelity and 
eternal damnation. Alas! Monseigneur, I knoAV 
that 5^ou understand all this far better tlian I; but 
seeing that in other things I think only in you, as 
being all that God has left me in this world, father, 
brother, and husband, and not having the comfort of 
telling you so, I have not feared to weary you with 
a long letter, which to me is short, in order to con- 
sole myself for my inability to talk to you." 

June 10, 1525, Francis I., changing his prison, 
took ship for Spain. "What deeply afflicted him 
was to salute the distant shores of France from the 
deck of the vessel. Off the islands of Hy^res, where 
the fleet remained for a moment, he could see the 
white standard with the lilies floating from the 
turrets; alas! the clarion did not sound, as in hap- 
pier times, to announce the presence of the King. 
There were neither shouts of joy nor any movement 
on the strand." 1 Entering the port of Palermo 
June 17, he arrived at Barcelona June 19, and 
thence sailed again for Valencia. The Spaniards 
received him with great respect. "The people of 
the Cid and of Amadis ran eagerly to see a living 
hero. The women went crazy over him. A daugh- 
ter of the Infantado, Dona Ximena, declared that as 
she could not marry the King of France, she would 
never take another husband, and so became a nun."^ 

1 M. Capefigue, Franqois /«'• et la Benaissance. 

2 M. Michelet, La Meforme. 



THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 31 

And yet, in spite of the admiration he inspired, 
the captive saw with grief that his situation became 
worse daily. It was in vain that he humbly en- 
treated the Emperor to grant him an interview. 
Charles V. persisting in refusing to see him, sent 
him from Valencia to Madrid, where his imprison- 
ment became still more rigorous. At first he was 
confined in the square tower of Los Lajunos, the 
strongest of the towers flanking the walls of Madrid, 
and later in the gloomy dungeon of the Alcazar. 
This dark cell could inspire none but gloomy 
thoughts. "But one entrance conducted thither, 
and the only window which admitted light opened 
toward the south, at about a hundred feet from the 
ground, not far from Manzanares. Glazed on the 
inside, it was closed on the outside by a double 
grating of iron bars fixed in the wall. . . . Alar- 
con, stationed in the King's vicinity, with a troop 
of arquebusiers who principally occupied the loAver 
part of the tower, had no difficulty in guarding the 
prisoner confided to him."^ 

It is easy to imagine what a man like Francis I. 
must have suffered in this narrow dungeon, where 
he, the crowned paladin, the hero of chivalric ro- 
mances, the lady-killer, and bold swordsman, found 
himself reduced to implore in vain the mercy of his 
young conqueror, and where he gave himself the 
name of slave. Overwhelmed with chagrin, he fell 

iM. Migiiet, liivalite de Franrois I*"" et de Charles- Quint. 



32 MABGUERITE, SISTEB OF FRANCIS I, 

seriously ill, and believed that his prison was to be 
his tomb. It was then that he remembered his 
sister, and his thoughts turned to her as to his 
good angel. It seemed to him that she alone might 
be able to deliver him, and that the devotion of 
a woman so full of wit and courage would be able 
to accomplish prodigies. On July 2, 1525, he sent 
Marshal de Montmorency to the Emperor to ask 
for a safe-conduct for Marguerite. Charles V. was 
quite willing to grant this request, hoping that the 
Duchess would help him wrest the cession of Bur- 
gundy from the captive. 

Marguerite embarked at Aigues-Mortes, August 
27, 1525, with President de Selves, Gabriel de Gram- 
mont. Bishop of Tarbes, Georges d'Armagnac, Arch- 
bishop of Embrun, and a sufficiently numerous suite 
of women. The idea that she was going to sacrifice 
herself for her brother filled her with joy. " What- 
ever it may be," she wrote him, "even to giving my 
ashes to the winds to do you a service, nothing will 
be either strange, difficult, or painful to me, but 
onl}^ consolation, repose, and honor." Landing at 
Barcelona, she learned on her way to Madrid that 
her brother was at the last extremity, and in spite 
of the excessive heat, which made travelling very 
painful, she traversed the distance separating them 
with exceptional rapidity. In her impatience to be 
at the end of her journey, she tried to escape the 
tediousness of waiting by composing verses which 
indicated the trouble and anxiety of her soul : — 



THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 33 

"Le desir du bien que j 'attends 
Me donne de travail matiere, 
Une heiire me donne cent ans ; 
Et me semble que ma litiere, 
Ne bouge ou retourne en arriere, 
Tant j'ai de m'avancer desir, 
Oh ! qu'elle est longue la carriere 
Oil git k la fin mon plaisir ! 

" Je regarde de tous cotes 
Pour voir s'il n'arrive personne, 
Priant sans cesse, n'en doutez, 
Dieu que sante k mon roy donne. 
Quand nul ne voit, I'oeil j'abandonne 
A pleurer ; puis sur le papier 
Un peu de ma douleur j'ordonne. 
Voila mon douloureux metier. 

" Oh ! qu'il sera le bien venu 
Celui qui, frappant a ma porte, 
Dira : le Roi est revenu 
En sa sante tres bonne et forte. 
Alors sa soeur, plus mal que morte, 
Courra baiser le messager 
Qui telles nouvelles apporte 
Que son frere est hors de danger." ^ 

1 Desire for the good that I await 
Gives me an occupation, 
An hour is like a hundred years to me ; 
And it seems to me my litter 
Either does not budge or is going back, 
So greatly do I long to advance. 
Oh ! how long is the road 
At the end of which my pleasure lies ! 

I look on every side 

To see if some one is not coming, 



34 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

The Cardinal Legate Salviati, whom Marguerite 
met and passed on the way, says that she went 
flying to Madrid. She arrived there September 20, 
1525. Francis I. seemed to have only a few hours 
to live, and Charles V., fearing to lose the fruits of 
the victory with the person of the vanquished, had 
finally consented, only the day before, to make him 
a first visit. 

On the arrival of the Duchess, Charles Y. came 
down to the foot of the staircase of the Alcazar. 
Still in mourning for her husband, she was dressed 
entirely in white, and her face was bathed in tears. 
The Emperor embraced her, and after saying a few 
courteous words, he led her to the sick man's bed. 
One divines what must have been the prisoner's 
emotions, when, deserted by fortune, humiliated, 
crushed by moral and physical sufferings, he saw 
the woman who had always been his best friend and 

And doubt not that I pray incessantly 
That God will give health to my King. 
When none is looking, I abandon my eyes 
To weeping ; then to the paper 
A little of my grief I transfer ; 
That is my doleful occupation. 

Oh ! how welcome will he be 
Who, knocking at my door, 
Shall say : " The King is restored 
To sound and excellent health." 
Then his sister, worse than dead, 
Will run to kiss the messenger 
Who brings the great news 
That her brother is out of danger. 



THE MABBIB CAPTIVITY 35 

most faithful consoler appear beside him like a 
messenger from God. He experienced a mingling 
of joy and sorrow which increased his fever, and 
three days later his state was alarmingl}^ worse. 
On the following day, Sreptember 24, he fell into 
complete insensibility, "without speech, hearing, or 
sight." The physicians avowed that there was no 
more hope. 

Relying no longer on any human remedies. Mar- 
guerite fervently implored the assistance of God, 
and God did not forsake her. She had an altar 
provided with all the religious emblems erected in 
the chamber of the fainting King. All the persons 
belonging to her suite and the companions of the 
unfortunate monarch being assembled. Mass was 
said by the Archbishop of Embrun, and solemn 
chants re-echoed in the dungeon. The sick man 
was aroused by the sound of this sweet harmony. 
His lethargy had ceased. Marguerite appeared to 
him like the image of his native land coming to 
console its King. Under the semblance of a woman, 
all France was watching at the bedside of the royal 
sufferer. The kneeling spectators were praying to 
God and weeping. When the Mass was ended, 
the Duchess had the Blessed Sacrament presented 
to the King that he might adore It. "It is my 
God," said he, "who Avill heal my soul and body; I 
beg you that I may receive Him." Tlien, the Host 
having been divided in two, the King received one 
half with the greatest devotion, and his sister, 



36 MABGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



communicating witli him, the other half. The 
sick man felt himself sustained by a supernatural 
force. A celestial consolation descended into his 
soul, just now despairing. Marguerite's prayer had 
not been unavailing. Francis I. was saved. 

Marguerite left her convalescing brother, to seek 
Charles V., and try to carry on the great negotiation 
which had brought her to Spain. The cession of 
Burgundy was invariably the rock upon which this 
negotiation split. The Duchess arrived at Toledo 
with twenty of her women, all on horseback like her- 
self, on October 8. The Emperor went to meet her, 
and gave her a gracious reception, taking pains to say, 
notwithstanding, that her journey was useless unless 
she brought with her the cession of Burgundy. Mar- 
guerite was not discouraged. According to Bran- 
t6me, she appeared before the Council of Spain, and 
" there she triumphed by making a good speech, and 
accomplished so much by her noble words that she 
rather made them agreeable than odious or dis- 
pleased; all the more because she was beautiful, 
the widow of M. d'Alen^on, and in the flower of her 
age. All that is very well adapted to move and 
influence persons who are hard and cruel." She 
went from Toledo to Madrid, from Madrid to Guada- 
laxara, the residence of the Duke de I'lnfantado, 
who displayed so much interest for the cause of 
Francis I. that he and his son were officially noti- 
fied from the court not to converse any more with 
the Duchess d'Alengon. "But the ladies were not 



THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 37 

interdicted," she writes, "and to them I shall talk 
twice as much." It was to the sister of Charles V. 
that ^he chiefly addressed herself, Eleanor, widow of 
the King of Portugal, who was then about to marry 
the Conn^table de Bourbon. Marguerite, to use 
Sainte-Marthe's ^ expression, began to concoct a 
marriage betAveen her brother and this princess. 
Eleanor's imagination became excited in favor of 
the prisoner whose wife she desired to become. 
The face of things became so changed by this means 
that although the negotiations had no result as yet, 
the situation of Francis I. gradually improved. 
Still, his choice was limited to perpetual imprison- 
ment or a burdensome and shameful treaty. 

In spite of all her efforts. Marguerite could not 
induce Charles V. to substitute anything for Bur- 
gundy as the price of his captive's ransom. On 
this point the Emperor remained inexorable. Mar- 
guerite, a thorough Frenchwoman at heart, would 
not pledge her brother to such conditions. Then 
Francis I. took a noble resolution. In presence 
of the Archbishop of Embrun, Marshal de Mont- 
morency, and President de Selve, he abdicated in 
favor of the Dauphin, December, 1525. In the 
letters-patent which he signed before them, lie said 
concerning Marguerite : " Our very dear and much 
loved only sister, the Duchess of Alengon and 
Berry, has taken the trouble and labor to come to 

1 Sainte-Marthe, Oraison funebre de Marguerite d'Angouleme. 



38 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

the Emperor across land and sea, and has sought by 
every fair and honest means she could think of to 
induce him to perform an act of honor and humanity." 

Then recalling the severe conditions exacted by 
Charles V . : " We have resolved rather to endure 
such and so long an imprisonment as it may please 
God we shall bear. We offer it to Him together 
with OUT liberty for the welfare, union, peace, and 
preservation of our subjects and our realm, for which 
we would employ not only our own life, but that of 
our very dear children, who were born, not for us, 
but for the good of our realm, and true children of 
the commonwealth of France." 

He prescribed, at the same time, that the Dauphin 
should be crowned, designated his mother, Louise of 
Savoy, as regent, and, in case of the death of that 
princess, the Duchess of Alen^on. Finally, he 
reserved to himself the right to resume the throne 
if he should be delivered later on. 

Meantime, the end of the truce was approaching, 
and Marguerite, whose safe-conduct Charles V. had 
refused to extend, started on her return to France, 
carrying with her the act of abdication, which still 
remained a secret. She travelled slowly, hoping 
constantly that some good news would stop her 
midway, and that the Emperor would decide to offer 
less severe conditions. By one of her letters it is 
evident that on December 3, she took from noon 
until seven o'clock to ride five leagues on horseback. 
She had reckoned on being at Narbonne for the 



THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 39 

Christmas festivities. But she suddenly received a 
letter from her brother advising her to make all speed. 
Charles V. had just been informed of the act of 
abdication which would so greatly lessen the impor- 
tance of his capture, and, to avenge himself, he 
intended to arrest Marguerite if she were found on 
Spanish soil at the expiration of the time fixed for 
the safe-conduct. 

*' Madame the Duchess, in the month of December," 
says a protest of the King, dated January 13, 1526, 
" was constrained in cold and snow and frost to pass 
and traverse the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon, 
the seigniories of Barcelona and Roussillon, in order 
to enter France before the truce ended, and was 
unable to obtain from the Emperor a safe-conduct 
to pass by way of the kingdom of Navarre, so as to 
be the sooner beyond the dominions of the Emperor, 
all of which were clear and evident signs of his wish 
to retain the said lady. Duchess of Alen9on, a pris- 
oner in case she were found in Spain after the truce." 

Marguerite, by dint of great fatigue, accomplished 
four days' travel in one, and reached the French 
frontier an hour later than the time mentioned in 
her safe-conduct. She was inconsolable for having 
failed to bring back her brother. One of the many 
letters she wrote him at this period terminates as 
follows : " Still in my litter, which is more wretched 
than ever, since it has not had the good fortune to 
bring you back, and still more of keeping you com- 
pany therein, I entreat Him alone who can and will 



40 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

bring all to a good end, which is fii^mly hoped for 
from His goodness by your very humble and very 
obedient subject and sister." 

In this correspondence, which displays an affec- 
tion and devotion equal to every trial, Marguerite 
forgets nothing which could console the heart of 
the royal captive; she delineates in affecting terms 
the love and fidelity of his people : — 

" Whenever I speak of you to two or three," she 
writes him from Beziers, "as soon as I name the 
King, every one draws near to listen ; so that I am 
constrained to give them tidings of you, and never 
end without an accompaniment of tears from people 
of all conditions, whose desires and prayers are so 
often present to God that I doubt not He who 
causes them is willing to grant them ; for it is time, 
and He only knows that, unless we see you soon, 
the love we bear you is so great that to live will be 
impossible, especially to mother, who lives for you 
alone, as she has told me, and to her who was born 
for both of you, and who heartily desires ever to be 
your very humble and very obedient subject and 
sister. Marguerite." 

Another time she addresses the father rather than 
the monarch, and, sketching a picture of the pris- 
oner's family, she writes him about his five chil- 
dren : — 

"And now they are all entirely recovered and 
very healthy. M. le Dauphin is studying wonder- 
fully, and combining a thousand other occupations 



THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 41 

with school ; there is no question of rage now, but 
of all the virtues. M. d'0rl6ans sticks fast to his 
book, and says he means to be good; but M. 
d'Angouleme knows more than the others, and 
does things which should rather be reckoned pro- 
phetic than childish, and which, Monseigneur, you 
would be amazed to hear. Little Margot^ is like 
me, and doesn't wish to be ill; but they assure me 
here that she is very graceful, and will become more 
beautiful than Mademoiselle d'Angouleme was."^ 

Apparently, Marguerite had not succeeded in her 
mission, but in reality she had greatly forAvarded the 
deliverance of her brother. It was owing to her 
that Charles V. did not follow the counsels of Chan- 
cellor Gattinara, who had desired Francis I. to be 
treated with the greatest rigor. By arranging a 
marriage between the prisoner and Queen Eleanor 
she had completely changed the conditions of his 
captivity. On recovering his health, he diverted 
himself by excursions, banquets at the houses of 
Spanish grandees, and visits to monasteries and 
convents, where he exercised his royal privilege of 
touching for scrofula. The Spanish, who from the 
time he fell ill had crowded the churches to entreat 
God to restore him, surrounded him with homage 
and kindly attentions. 

He ended by sacrificing his parole to his libert}-, 

1 Marguerite, second daughter of Francis I., who became 
Duchess of Savoy. 

2 That is to say, the author of tlie letter. Marguerite herself, who 
was born Mademoiselle d'Angouleme. 



42 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

swearing as a king, a gentleman, and a Christian to 
keep promises which he was firmly resolved to 
break. As hostages he gave his two eldest sons, 
one of them eight years old, and the other seven. 
"These poor and charming children were to be 
taken be3^ond the Pyrenees, quickly separated from 
their attendants, shut up in the castle of Pedraza 
amidst the mountains, almost deprived of light and 
air as well as liberty, left in shameful poverty, 
with worn-out clothes, and a little dog as sole 
companion, without receiving any tidings from their 
family during three years and more of war, and even 
without hearing a single word of their own lan- 
guage, the use of which they lost so completely 
that, after the peace of Cambrai, they could not 
understand the messenger sent by their father to 
pay them a visit and apprise them in French of 
their deliverance " ^ 

M. Mignet has described with the charm and pre- 
cision that belongs to all his narratives, the exchange, 
which took place March 17, 1526. At seven o'clock 
in the morning, the Viceroy of Naples, accompany- 
ing Francis I., and Lautrec conducting the Dauphin 
and the Duke of Orleans, reached the desolate 
shores of the Bidassoa. "The exchange was made 
with the most minute and suspicious precautions. 
In the middle of the river, between Fontarabia and 
Hendaye, had been placed a pontoon in the form 

1 M. Mignet, Rivalite de Franc^ois /«'■ et de Charles- Quint. 






THE MADRID CAPTIVITY 43 

of an estrade, which was kept immovable by anchors 
at equal distances from either shore, and which it 
had been agreed that the King and his children 
should mount together, so that he should pass into 
France and his children into Spain at the same 
moment. Two boats of the same size, manned by 
an equal number of rowers, had been prepared on 
each bank. Lannoy entered one of them Avith 
Francis I., Lautrec the other with the two young 
princes. The boats, starting together, reached the 
pontoon at the same time. The King embraced his 
children, and, descending into the boat which had 
brought them, was rowed ashore. 'Here I am King 
again ! ' he cried, as his foot touched the soil of 
France; 'I am King, I am King again! ' " 

Then he sprang on a horse, and spurring it, rode 
at full speed as far as Bayonne, Avhere he was 
greeted with transports of joy and homage by his 
mother and his courtiers. He could not forget that 
if he Avere still alive and at liberty, it Avas to his 
sister, his mignonne, that he owed his safety. Bran- 
t6me reports him as often saying, " that Avithout her 
he Avould have died, for Avhich he Avas under obliga- 
tions to her that he Avould ever recognize, and would 
love her as he had ahvays done, until his death. 
And she did the same for him." 

Marofuerite's devotion Avas more useful than an 
army to Francis I. A Avoman's heart had found 
more resources than the skill of diplomatists and 
the knowledge of statesmen- 



IV 

THE BEGINNINGS OF THE REFOEMATION 

SOME have sought to represent Marguerite as 
Catholic in name but Protestant in fact, and 
this accusation, brought against her by implacable 
enemies during her life, has not ceased to be aimed 
against her memory. That the sister of Francis I. 
was made indignant by certain abuses, the sale of 
indulgences, for instance ; that she wished to resist 
pagan tendencies and appeal from mythology to the 
Gospel; that she had a horror of ignorance, fanati- 
cism, persecution, and the impious and cruel doctrine 
which consisted in enlightening souls by the fires of 
the stake; that she granted her sympathy, protection, 
and assistance to the victims of liberty of conscience, 
is incontestable. But what is not less true is, that 
she remained loyal to the faith of her fathers all her 
life. 

The Reformation, like the French Revolution, had 
its golden age, its period of noble enthusiasms and 
generous illusions. There was then no question 
either of impairing the force or the unity of dogma, 
of bringing the religious passions into the service of 
ambition and cupidity, of troubling men's souls, or of 

44 



BEGINNINGS OF THE FEFORMATION 45 

provoking civil wars. Luther repelled the name of 
heretic with horror and recosrnized the Church's rig-ht 
to proscribe schisms. The time had not yet come 
when Henry VIII. would transform himself into tlie 
pope of England, and Calvin dishonor Geneva b}- 
kindling the faggot of Michael Servetus. All that 
men wanted was to reform morals, by bringing back 
to earth the purity and ideal simplicity of the first 
Christian ages. 

Knowledge and virtue promised to unite for the 
triumph of justice and truth. A breath of liberty 
rejuvenated men, and at this solemn moment, when 
the conscience of the human race seemed presently 
about to rise against abuses, vice, and scandals, the 
innovators no more dreamed of the religious wars than 
the men of 1789 foresaw the scaffolds of 1793. 

Marguerite, whose mind was open to all things 
noble, could not remain unmoved by what was legiti- 
mate in such an intellectual and religious movement. 
But she was unwilling to see any blow aimed at 
dogma. It was precisely because she remained true 
to the faith of her childhood that she felt a righteous 
wrath on beholding the crimes of every kind by which 
the persecutors defiled religion. She suffered at 
beholding the sword substituted for the Word, and 
was never more afflicted than when obhged to con- 
template her beloved brother under the aspect of a 
torturer. In the heart of this generous woman, irri- 
tated by injustice and exasperated by cruelty, there 
were treasures of gentleness and truly Christian 



46 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



charity for the victims of these abominable persecu- 
tions. The greater the danger incurred by defending 
the martyrs of liberty, the more did she feel that 
honor obliged her to give them a helping hand. Not 
sharing their errors, she yet desired to ameliorate 
their lot. She seemed like an image of mercy. The 
condemned invoked her name amid .the flames of the 
scaffold. As is said of her in the funeral oration of 
which Sainte-Marthe is the author: "She made her- 
self the port and refuge of all the disconsolate. Thou 
shouldst have seen them at this port, some to raise 
their heads from beggary, others coming as from a 
shipwreck to embrace a long-desired tranquillity, still 
others to cover themselves with her favor as with the 
shield of Ajax against those who persecuted them. 
In fine, seeing them around this good lady, thou 
wouldst have called her a hen who carefully calls 
and gathers her little chicks and covers them with 
her wings." Marguerite devoted herself neither to 
the interests of Luther nor those of Calvin. The 
cause of which she was the eloquent, courageous, and 
convinced advocate was that of humanity. 

The ideas that gave birth to the Reformation had 
begun to show themselves in France before causing 
an explosion on the other bank of the Rhine. Even 
in the time of Louis XIL, Lefevre d'Etaples, who 
taught theology and belles-lettres in Paris, had an- 
nounced to his disciples that God would renew the 
world. Li the first years of the reign of Francis I. a 
sort of little congregation had grown up about thi^ 



BEGINNINGS OF THE liEFOBMATION 47 

savant. Guillaume Brigomiet, Bishop of Meaux, 
son of the minister of Charles VIII., kept up a 
religious correspondence with Marguerite in 1521. 
He called around him Lefevre d'Etaples and his 
disciples, Farel, Gerard, Roussel, d'Arande. The 
King's reader, Duchatel, his confessor, the Domini- 
can Guillaume Petit, Bishop of Troyes and Senlis, 
were then on good terms with these innovators, who 
announced their intention of touching nothing but 
abuses, and Marguerite wrote to Brigonnet : " The 
King and Madame are more than ever inclined 
toward the reformation of the Church, being resolved 
to let it be known that the truth of God is not 
heresy." In 1552, Lefevre published his French 
translation of the New Testament, Avith Commen- 
taries. Holy Scripture was in fashion at court. In 
vain did the reactionary party maintain that Greek is 
the language of heresies, that whoever dared even to 
spell it would become a schismatic, that to open the 
Greek text of the New Testament, a book full of 
thorns and vipers, was to devote one's self voluntarily 
to certain death, and that as for Hebrew, one could 
not try to read it without becoming a Jew. Fran- 
cis I. smiled at such exaggerations, and the religious 
movement, which showed itself at first under a 
scientific and literary aspect, was, if not encouraged, 
at least tolerated by the court. 

This situation was somewhat modified by the 
King's captivity. The regent thought she saw a 
chance for her son's deliverance in a close alliance 



48 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I, 

with the court of Rome. She desired the support 
of the Sorbonne also, and to satisfy public opinion, 
which reofarded the disaster of Pavia as a chastise- 
ment from heaven, irritated by the progress of 
the heretics. An extraordinary commission was ap- 
pointed by parliament. This was an inquisition 
partly religious and partly laic and Galilean. Im- 
prisonments, confiscations, and punishments began. 
Emboldened by the absence of Marguerite, who was 
in Spain near her brother, the persecutors set to 
work with a sort of fury. Lefevre d'Etaples, whose 
translation of the New Testament had just been 
prohibited, was obliged to quit the kingdom and 
went to rejoin Farel at Strasburg. Bri^onnet re- 
tracted. Two of Marguerite's proteges, Clement 
Marot, the poet, and the gentleman Louis de Ber- 
quin, were arrested. 

The innovators awaited the King's return with 
impatience. But on reaching France he displayed 
both in religion and politics the inconsequence and 
contradictions which were the basis of his character. 
At first he manifested indignation at the perse- 
cutions that had taken place in his absence, and was 
much impressed by a letter in which Erasmus had 
written him concerning the fanatics : " It is the 
faith which they allege, but they aspire to tyranny, 
even with princes. They march with a secure step, 
though underground. If the prince takes a notion 
not to submit to them in all things, they will declare 
at once, that he may be removed by the Church, 



BEGINNINGS OF THE liEFOBMATION 40 



that is, by certain insincere monks and theologians 
leagued together against the public peace." Fran- 
cis I. announced his intention of protecting the men 
"of excellent learning" who were under the stroke 
of persecution. He sent an order from Bayonne for 
the release of Clement Marot and Berquin. Lefevre 
cl'Etaples was recalled from exile, and became the 
preceptor of the King's youngest son. In spite of 
the censures of the Sorbonne, the government author- 
ized the reprinting of twenty-four thousand copies 
of the Colloquies of Erasmus. Marguerite, who 
married Henri d'Albret at the beginning of the 
year 1527, had Berquin enter her husband's service. 
The party of toleration seemed about to be victorious 
when the imprudences committed by the reformers 
induced a complete alteration in the state of affairs. 

During Monday night in Whitsun week, June 1, 
1528, a statue of the Virgin which was at the corner 
formed bv the rue des R osiers and the rue des Juifs, 
in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, was thrown down and 
mutilated by unknown hands. The people uttered a 
cry of wrath. Processions starting from every parish 
went to the scene of the sacrilege to recite prayers 
and utter menaces. The entire University, doctors, 
licentiates, bachelors, masters of arts, students, all 
went thither under the leadership of their rector. 
Swept along by public sentiment, the King repaired 
to the place of the crime, bareheaded and carrying a 
candle in his hand. The parliament, flattering him 
so as to rule him with greater ease, declared itself 



50 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

" as greatly consoled and rejoiced by his presence as 
the apostles were when they beheld God after the 
Resurrection," and, uniting with the Sorbonne and 
the clergy, it persuaded him to become " the peculiar 
protector and defender of religion," and not to suf- 
fer in his kingdom "any errors,, heresies, or false 
doctrines." 

The persecution began anew. Marguerite, in spite 
of all her efforts, could not save the unfortunate 
Berquin, who again fell into the hands of the execu- 
tioners.^ He was burned on the Place de Greve, 
April 17, 1529. " When the cord that fastened him 
to the stake stifled his voice," says Theodore de Beza 
in the Histoire Ecclesiastique^ " no one in the crowd 
called on the name of Jesus, whom it is customary to 
invoke in favor even of parricides and sacrilegious 
persons, so greatly had the multitude been excited 
against him by those men who are found everywhere 
and who can do what they like with the minds of 
simple and ignorant people." 

Encouraged by their success, the persecutors pur- 
sued Marguerite with desperate fury, constantly aim- 
ing at her the most violent attacks. But they were 
striking at a woman who had as much intelligence 
as courage. Instead of buying repose at the cost of 
abandoning the unfortunates she had taken under 
her protection, she accepted the struggle with energy, 

1 See concerning Louis de Berquin, the excellent article pub- 
lished by M. Haureau in the Revue des Deux-Mondes, January 15, 
1869. 



BEGINNINGS OF THE REFORMATION 51 

and vigorously withstood all enmities. In 1532, at 
the very moment when the monks, treating her as 
a heretic, said from the pulpit that she ought to be 
" put in a sack and thrown into the Seine," she 
employed the King's confessor, Guillaume Petit, 
Bishop of Senlis, to translate the canonical prayer- 
book into French, suppressing all passages which she 
considered tainted with superstition. 

At the same epoch she had published a little relig- 
ious poem under the title of Miroir de Vdme j^eche- 
resse. It was merely a paraphrase, in verse, of several 
passages of Scripture. Yet the man who had placed 
himself at the head of the enemies of the Queen of 
Navarre, the savage Beda, found means to incriminate 
this innocent performance. Marguerite had not men- 
tioned in it either the saints or purgatory. " Then," 
cried the accuser, " she believes neither in purgatory 
nor the saints ! " He caused the book to be con- 
demned by the Sorbonne, and at his instigation the 
principal of the College of Navarre ordered the 
pupils to perform a morality, or allegorical drama, 
in which Marguerite was represented under the char- 
acter of a woman quitting her distaff for a French 
translation of the Gospels, presented to her by a 
Fury. Here the enemies of the Queen had over- 
stepped their bounds. Francis I. was irritated. The 
principal and his actors were arrested. The ever- 
generous Marguerite asked pardon for them, and 
only obtained it by throwing herself at her brother's 
feet. There came a momentary respite in the perse- 



62 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

cutions. At the initiative of Nicolas Cox, rector of 
the University of Paris, the assembled Faculties disa- 
vowed the censure passed by the Sorbonne against 
the Miroir de Vdme pecheresse. Gerard Roussel, the 
Queen of Navarre's chaplain, was authorized to 
preach in Paris, and the diatribes of Be da against 
these sermons displeased Francis I. so much that 
Marguerite's savage enemy ended by being sent to 
the prison of Saint-Michel. 

The reformers were at rest, when some among 
them were foolish enough to defy the King and thus 
to renew the era of persecution. October 18, 1534, 
Francis I. being then at Blois, on rising in the morn- 
ing and leaving his room, found a placard against 
the Mass affixed to his own door. Beside himself, 
he broke into a rage, finding in the audacious poster 
an outrage directed at both the majesty of God and 
the majesty of kings. This was the moment when 
the Anabaptists w^ere filling Germany with their 
crimes, and the rumor of the massacres of Miinster 
had reached even to the court of France. The Kino-, 
whose imagination was easily impressed, and whose 
sister was no longer at hand to inspire him with 
ideas of tolerance and moderation, resolved to treat 
heresy with inflexible severity. An expiatory pro- 
cession took place January 21, 1535. It issued in 
great pomp from the church of Saint-Germain-l'Aux- 
errois. Tlie relics of all the martyrs preserved in 
the sanctuaries of Paris were carried in it. The 
King marched bareheaded with a wax candle in his 



BEGINNINGS OF THE REFORMATION 53 

hand. Theodore de Beza says that there had been 
erected " a scaffold and a pile of faggots on which six 
persons were burned alive amid wonderful shouting 
from the people, so much excited that they were very 
'near snatching them from the hands of the execu- 
tioners and tearing them to pieces." The unhappy 
victims were bound fast to a tall machine. It was a 
piece of timber balanced on a fulcrum, which in 
descending plunged them into the flames of the 
burning faggots, but rose again immediately so as to 
prolong their agony until the flame should consume 
the cords that bound them and they fell into the 
middle of the fire. 

The procession terminated at the church of Sainte- 
Genevieve. The King and the princes dined after- 
ward at the house of the Bishop of Paris. After 
dinner, the court, the parliament, and the ambassadors 
assembled in the great hall of the bishopric. There 
Francis I. ascended a pulpit. He expressed his grief 
" that persons could be found in his realm so wicked 
and wretched as to wish to sully its fair name by 
sowing in it damnable and execrable opinions." He 
required of all the spectators, and through them of 
all his subjects, that each of them should denounce 
all " whom they knew to be adherents or accomplices 
of heresy ' without regard to alliance, lineage, or 
friendship.' " The royal orator added that for his 
own part, " were his arm infected with such gangrene, 
he would separate it from his body; that is to say, 
if his own children were so wretched as to fall into 



54 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



such execrable and accursed opinions, he would give 
them as a sacrifice to God." 

Francis I. was so exasperated against the innova- 
tors that, including heretics, men of letters, and 
savants in the same condemnation, he signed, in 
that fatal year 1535, letters-patent ordering the sup- 
pression of printing. The " Father of Letters " soon 
revoked this barbarous ordinance. Nevertheless, it 
demonstrates the pitch of fury at which he had 
arrived. At this period Marguerite needed a real 
force of soul to continue playing her part of pro- 
tectress of the victims. Her little court of Nerac 
always remained their asylum. But her enemies 
daily redoubled their fury against her. One of her 
letters, written in 1541, at the period when she had 
to struggle against the violent opposition of the 
Bishop of Condom, shows the fears she entertained 
for her life. She had been told she would be poi- 
soned by the incense burned before her in church, 
and there was a time when she felt obliged to have 
Mass said in her own room. 

No effort was spared to irritate her brother against 
her. Nevertheless this justice must be done to Fran- 
cis I. that he always defended his sister from the 
calumnies perpetually devised against her. " I have 
heard a veracious person say," says BrantSme, " that 
the Conn^table de Montmorency, who was in the 
greatest favor with him, discussing one day with the 
King, made neither difficulty nor scruple in telling 
him that if he really desired to exterminate heretics 



BEGINNINGS OF THE REFORMATION 55 



in his kingdom he must begin at court with his 
nearest kindred, naming the Queen his sister. To 
which the King replied : ' We will not speak of her. 
She loves me too much. She will never believe 
anything but what I believe and will never adopt a 
religion prejudicial to my state.' " 

In the latter years of her life, Marguerite, while 
continuing to protect the martyrs of Protestantism 
as she had done in the past, attached herself more 
and more to Catholicism. Her rare intelligence had 
perfectly well noted the weak sides of a reform 
which forgot to reform itself, and whose leaders,, 
seeking liberty only for themselves and not for 
others, had the singular pretension to construct a 
creed to their own liking and to confine free exam- 
ination within limits traced merely by their own 
caprice. 

The vital wound of Protestantism, which recoiled 
from its own principles and did not clearly know 
either what it wanted to destroy or what it wanted 
to preserve, that inconsequence which could not 
fail to strike all reflective minds, dispelled many 
illusions, and prevented the yielding of blind faith 
to the semi-audacities of the innovators. As Michelet 
has said : " The human soul, almost on the point of 
launching forth into the infinity of the unknown, 
glanced backward again, interrogated its ancient path, 
asked if it were not enough to return to the days of 
old." Marguerite was unwilling to separate herself 
from the relis^ion which had blessed her cradle and 



56 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

was to consecrate her tomb. Her historians agree in 
recognizing that at every epoch of her life she scrupu- 
lously observed all the religious practices of Cathol- 
icism. She loved its consoling poetry and found 
there a living source wherein to quench that thirst 
for love and hope which is the torment and the joy 
of certain souls. Her ardent and glowing imagination 
was not made for the cold abstractions and sombre 
rigorism of Calvin. 

In the various practices of Catholicism there were 
some which met a want in her tender and somewhat 
mystical nature. I will cite only the veneration of 
the dead. She who had loved so much in this life 
would never admit that our prayers, our suppliant 
aspirations, could be useless or indifferent to these 
beloved dead who, for her, were not the absent, but 
only the invisible.^ She founded nunneries, honored 
the relics of the saints, and had a veritable devotion 
toward the Blessed Virgin. At Paris she went to 
confession to Francois le Picard, dean of Saint-Ger- 
main-l'Auxerrois, and received communion from the 
hands of this virtuous person at the church of the 
Blancs-Manteaux, where her piety edified the faith- 
ful. The protectress of liberty of conscience remained 
a good Catholic. On her deathbed she had a right 
to say to the Franciscan who gave her the last sacra- 
ments, that she had never separated from the Church, 
and that what she had done for the reformed had 
X^roceeded solely from compassion. 

1 Conferences of M. Luro. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MARGUERITE OF ANGOULEME 

MARGUERITE, alread.3^ so afflicted by the per- 
secutions that sullied her brother's reign, 
found her sorrows still further increased by the family 
troubles which cast a sombre veil over the latter 
years of her life. January 24, 1527, at Saint-Ger- 
main-en-Laye, she had married her second husband, 
Henri d'Albret, King of Navarre, eldest son of Jean 
d'Albret and Catherine de Foix, from whom Ferdi- 
nand of Arragon had taken part of their dominions 
under the reign of Louis XII. This prince was only 
nominally King of Navarre. Beam still belonged to 
him ; but far from possessing a sovereign's fortune, 
his modest resources came from Francis I., who sub- 
sidized him in order to prevent his attaching himself 
to Charles V. Henri d'Albret was only twenty-four 
at the time of his marriage, while Marguerite was 
in her thirty-sixth year. She seems to have made a 
love-match, but everything inclines one to believe 
that her young husband, who did not make her 
happy according to the testimony of his contempo- 
raries, was moved rather by ambition than incli- 
nation. 

67 



58 MABGUEBITE, SISTER OF FEANCIS I. 

Francis I. covered the newly-married pair with 
promises. He renounced in their favor all claims on 
tJie county of Armagnac, and pledged himself to have 
the kingdom of Navarre restored to his brother-in- 
law, but he did not keep this engagement. In a word, 
as M. Michelet saj^s, Marguerite espoused poverty 
and ruin.i Her brother indemnified her in a measure 
by endowing her with the duchies of Alen^on and 
Berry, the counties of Armagnac and Perche, and in 
general all the seigniories which she held from her 
first husband, or rather, by right of appanage. In 
reality. Marguerite remained dependent on Francis I. 
whose assistance she was many times obliged to seek. 

She had two children by her second marriage, — 
a daughter born January 7, 1528, who was the famous 
Jeanne d'Albret, mother of Henry IV., and a son, 
born in 1530, who only lived two months. On the 
day of the little prince's death, his mother, who was 
then at Alencon, had this great passage from the 
Book of Job posted on the city walls : " The Lord 
gave him to me, the Lord hath taken him away. 
May His holy name be blessed." It was reserved 
for Jeanne d'Albret to become the object of Mar- 
guerite's greatest sorrows. She w^as only two years 
old when Francis I., who wished to dispose of her as 
he pleased, and especially to prevent any scheme for 
uniting her to the son of Charles V., withdrew her 



1 



In his remarkable Histoire des Feuples et des J^tats pyreneens, 
M. Cenac-Moncaut has given some interesting details concerning 
Henri d'Albret. 



THE LAST TEARS OF MARGUERITE 59 



from the direction of her parents, and caused her to 
be brought up in the castle of Plessis-lez-Tours. 
Marguerite was profoundly afflicted by this despotic 
action, but she was obliged to submit. If Jeanne 
had married the prince, who was to become Philip II., 
the usurpation of the kingdom of Navarre by the 
Spanish would have been legitimatized. They might 
even have acquired important possessions on this 
side of the Pyrenees. This idea became a source of 
anxiety to Francis I. He knew the marriage was 
greatly desired by many subjects of his brother-in- 
law, who hoped in this wise to recover their estates 
in Navarre. Cardinal de Gramont, Archbishop of 
Bordeaux and Lieutenant-Governor of Guyenne, 
surprised a correspondence between Henri d'Albret 
and Charles V. and sent it to the King. The little 
princess was then twelve years old. Francis I. was 
at this time desirous to gain William de la Marck, 
Duke of Cleves, who was on the point of giving his 
adhesion to the Emperor. More royal than broth- 
erly, Francis I., without troubling himself about his 
sister's opposition, resolved that his niece should be 
affianced to the Duke of Cleves. From her infancy 
Jeanne had that firmness of character and force of 
will which was her characteristic trait through life. 
The heaviest threats were necessary to induce her to 
accept a betrothal which was not according to her 
mind. Francis L, more and more alarmed by the 
prospect of a union between his niece and the son of 
Charles V., sent for the Duke of Cleves to come 



60 MABGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

to Chatellerault. All that Marguerite could obtain 
for her daughter, who was then but twelve and 
a half years old, was that the pretended consum- 
mation of Jeanne's marriage with the Duke should 
be nothing but an empty ceremony. Francis I. had 
required that the pair should enter the marriage-bed 
in the presence of witnesses, but it was surrounded 
by matrons as long as they remained together, and 
the Duke of Cleves, after signing a treaty of alliance 
with Francis I., returned alone to Germany. Aban- 
doned in 1543 by the French troops, which left him 
at the Emperor's mercy, he sent a herald-at-arms 
to the King to demand his wife. Francis I. replied 
that he had nothing to do with that affair, and that 
the Duke must ask the King and Queen of Navarre 
for their daughter. Marguerite and her husband 
were delighted to find a pretext against a union which 
had never pleased them, and relying on a change of 
inclination in Francis I., they succeeded in obtain- 
ing from the Pope an annulment of the marriage 
concluded three years before.^ 

In a book which happily combines erudition with 
a charming style. Count Hector de La Ferriere- 
Percy^ has drawn a curious picture of Marguerite's 
latter years. By the aid of the Queen's account-book 
he has very exactly indicated the nature of her occu- 

1 Jeanne d'Albret married Antoine de Bourbon in 1548. 

2 Marguerite d'Angouleme. Her book of expenses from 1540 
to 1549 : Etudes sur ses dernieres annees, par le Comte Hector de 
La Ferriere-Percy. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MARGUERITE 01 

pations and hei- daily life. He shows her presiding 
with exquisite affability over her little court at 
Beam, where, dressed " comme ime simple demoiselle^'' 
and having none of the externals of royalty save the 
majesty of her form and bearing, she mingled with 
her subjects, spoke their language, visited the poor, 
and gave asylum to the proscribed. 

At Pan, wliere she found an old feudal dwelling, 
she caused those magnificent terraces to be con- 
structed from which may be seen the summits of the 
Pyrenees, and those beautiful buildings which bear 
the imprint of the Renaissance. But Marguerite 
was not happy in this beautiful abode. Her hus- 
band's disposition was very trying, and he did not 
live harmoniously with her. Melancholy had dis- 
placed gaiety. The diversions which had once 
amused that wittiest of women who wrote the 
Heptameron now seemed to her dull and lifeless. 
Worldly conversations upon love no longer pleased 
her, and it was she wrote these verses stamped with 
sadness : — 

" Mes cinquante aiis, ma vertu affaiblie, 
Le temps passe, commandent que j'oublie, 
Pour mieux penser a la prochaine mort, 
Sans plus avoir memoire ni remords, 
Si en amour a douleur ou plaisir." ^ 

1 My fifty years, my failing powers, 
Time past, command that I forget, 
To think the better of approaching death, 
No more to have or memory or remorse, 
If in love is either pain or pleasure. 



62 MABGUEEITE, STSTEB OF FEANCIS I. 

At the time when shadows were thus creepmg 
over Marguerite's last years, her brother, exhausted 
by an incurable disease, was the painful survivor of 
his own faculties, and the once-radiant sun was 
setting amidst clouds. It is the destiny of all men 
whose career has been brilliant, to expiate their days 
of triumph by painful trials. " The most lamentable 
spectacle, the one most productive of serious reflec- 
tions, is the last period of life in any man or thing 
which has had any grandeur. When the existence 
has been commonplace, it resembles a smooth mirror 
on which the breath leaves hardly any trace. But 
wheji a man has been great, brilliant, and beautiful, 
and when one sees him broken down by sickness and 
death, when a vast intelligence is crushed and 
blighted, when striking beauty is effaced, when a 
voice sweet as an angel's changes and is lost, the 
soul experiences an ineffable sadness." ^ Marguerite, 
whose affection for her brother was profound, could 
not be consoled when she knew that he was suffering 
and unhappy. In vain the aging monarch redoubled 
his expenses. 

" This court, always on the go, resembled a moving 
romance, a Pantagruelic pilgrimage, all along the 
Loire, from castle to castle, from forest to forest. 
Everywhere the hunting of stags and boars and 
stunning bugle blasts. Everywhere great banquets, 
and tables spread under the greenwood-tree for 



1 M. Capefigue, Francois F^ et la Benaissance. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MARGUERITE 63 



thousands of guests. Then all this disappeared. "^ 
These pomps, these amusements, had no longer any 
attraction for a man whose imagination and char- 
acter were alike deadened. A heart at peace may 
find happiness in the obscurest village. 

" Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit sequus." 

But a heart which is not at peace finds it nowhere, 
not even in the most splendid palaces. By the be- 
ginning of the year 1547, the strength of Francis I. 
was visibly declining. Some time before that he 
had desired to summon his sister, who was always 
his most faithful comforter. It was under a dull 
wintry sky that the two saw once more the park of 
Chambord. "Leaning on the arm of his gentle 
Marguerite, his enfeebled glance wandered from 
the high painted window over those great woods 
stripped of their foliage, beneath which he had 
chased the deer, to that bleak horizon, faithful 
image of his present fortune. It was then, under 
the influence of one of those fits of sadness not 
to be shaken off at the sight of Nature's desola- 
tion, that he traced the words that Brant6me has 

preserved." 

" Souvent femme varie, 
Mai habil qui s'y fie." ^ 



1 Mlchelet, La B^fbrme. 

2 Count Hector tie La Ferriere-Percy. 

Woman often changes ; 
Foolish he who trusts her. 



64 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



What he might well say of his mistresses and 
favorites, Francis T. did not apply to his sister, 
whose devotion and goodness had never failed for 
an instant. She left him with regret, as if she 
foreboded an approaching calamity. In February, 
154T, the condition of Francis I. altered for the 
worse. A continual fever gradually undermined 
his strength. He tried in vain to struggle against 
the malady. " As if he hoped to escape, by activity, 
from the death that was on his track, he went from 
Saint-Germain to La Muette, Villepreux, Dampierre, 
and Loches ; but the illness outstripped him. Worn 
out with fatigue, he arrived at Rambouillet, intend- 
ing to stay there only one night ; he was not to go 
any further; he took to his bed, and never left it 
again." March 31, 1547, the knightly King, the 
father of letters, the hero of Marignan, ceased to live. 

Marguerite w^as then at the monastery of Tusson in 
Angoumois, where she went from time to time to 
meditate in the religious silence of the cloister, and 
to make retreats which lasted for several weeks. 
Dark presentiments had taken possession of her 
impressionable soul. " In the season which despoils 
nature there is not a breeze, not a breath, so light 
that it is not strong enough to detach the leaf from 
the tree that bears it. In the autumn of the heart 
there is not a movement which does not take away 
a happiness or a hope."^ Marguerite suffered, but 

1 Pensees, de Madame Swetchine. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MARGUERITE Go 



SO long as she had her brother she did not complain. 
The whole strength of her affection was, one might 
say, concentrated on this friend of her infancy, this 
perpetual object o£ her respect, devotion, admira- 
tion, and tenderness. 

A few days before the death of this beloved 
brother, she dreamed that he appeared to her, his 
face pallid, depressed, and that he called her in a 
plaintive voice. She at once sent several couriers 
to Paris to calm the anxiety inspired by this presage. 
In her anguished impatience she exclaimed: "Who- 
ever shall come to my door to announce the recovery 
of the King, however tired, harassed, filth}^, or dirty 
that courier may be, I will run to kiss and embrace 
him as if he were the finest gentleman in the 
kingdom, and if he needs a bed I will give him 
mine, and lie on the bare ground." The nuns were 
already acquainted with the fatal tidings, but had 
not the courage to announce them to the Queen. One 
of them was weeping and lamenting. The noise of 
her sobs could be heard throughout the cloister. It 
was a poor insane sister who was left at liberty 
because her madness was not dangerous. 

"What are you groaning about, sister?" Mar- 
guerite said^to her. "Alas! Madame, it is your 
ill-fortune that I deplore ! " At these words, the 
Queen comprehended all. "You are hiding my 
brother's death from me," cried she, "but the spirit 
^f God has revealed it to me by the mouth of this 
lunatic." 



66 MARGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

Then, falling on her knees and weeping, she began 
to pray. Marguerite spent the first forty days of 
her mourning in the monastery. Brant6me says her 
" regrets were so poignant that she could never after 
recover from them. She composed several pieces of 
verse on the death of her brother. They were her 
farewell to poetry which she had so much loved." 

" Je n'ai plus ni pere ni mere, 
Ni soeur ni frere, 
Sinon Dieu seul auquel j'espere, 
Qui sur le ciel et terre impere. 
J'ai mis du tout en oubhance, 
Le monde, et parents, et amis ; 
Biens et honneurs en abondance, 
Je les tiens pour mes ennemis." ^ 

Never had Marguerite been inspired better than 
by sorrow : — 

" Les plus desesperes sont les chants les plus beaux. 
J'en connais d'immortels qui sont de purs sanglots." ^ 

Yes, it is nothing but a sob, this sorrowful lay of 
the Queen of Navarre, who would not be consoled : — 

1 1 have no longer either father or mother, 
Neither sister nor brother, 
Save God alone in whom I trust, 
Who hath empery over heaven and earth. 
All have I offered to oblivion, 
World, parents, friends ; 
Possessions, honors in abundance, 
I hold them for my enemies. 

2 The most beautiful songs are the most despairing. 
I know immortal ones that are but mere sobs, 

— Alfred de Musset. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MARGUERITE 67 



" Las ! tant malheuveuse je suis, 
Que moil malheur dire ne puis 
Sin on qu'il est sans esperance . . . 
Tant de larmes jettent mes yeux, 
Qu'ils ne voient ni terre ni cieux, 
Telle est de leurs pleurs abondance. 
Ma bouclie se plaint en tous lieux ; 
De mon coeur ne peut saillir mieux 
Que soupirs sans nulle allegeance. 
Mort qui m'as fait ce mauvais tour 
D'abatfere ma force et ma tour, 
Tout mon refuge et ma defense, 
N'a su ruiner mon amour 
Que je sens croltre chaque jour. 
Que ma douleur croit et avance. 
O mort, qui le frere as dompte, 
Viens doncques par ta grande bonte 
Transpereer la soeur de ta lance . . . " ^ 



1 Alas ! so unfortunate am I, 
That my woe can say no more, 
Save that it is hopeless . . . 
So many tears escape my eyes 
That they see neither earth nor skies, 
So abundant are their tears. 
My mouth complains in every place ; 
From my heart nothing better can gush out 
Than sighs v^^ithout alleviation. 
Death which has done me this ill turn 
To batter down my strength and tower, 
All my refuge and defence, 
Has not been able to destroy my love, 
Which I feel increasing every day 
That my woe increases and advances. 
O death, who hast conquered the brother, 
Come then by thy gi-eat bounty. 
Transfix the sister with thy lance. 



68 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



The manuscripts in the Imperial Library have 
preserved this eight-line stanza composed by Mar- 
guerite at the same period : — 



" Je cherche autant la croix et la desire 
Coinme autrefois je I'ai voulu fuir ; 
Je cherche autant par tourment d'en jouir, 
Comme autrefois j'ai craint son dur martyre. 
Car cette croix mon ame a Dieu attire; 
C'est le chemin trfes sur pour Taller voir. 
Par quoi les biens qu'au monde puis avoir 
Quitter je veux : la croix me doit sufl&re." ^ 

After her brother's death she lived only for 
heaven. Abandoning the administration of all her 
possessions to' her husband, shie occupied herself 
with nothing but good works and prayers. She 
no longer worked at that famous collection of tales 
which she was in the habit of composing in her 
litter, as she travelled about, and dictating to one of 
her maids of honor. So the Heptameron remained 
unfinished, containing only seventy-two tales, in- 
stead of the hundred at first intended by Marguerite. 
The time for joyous diversions had passed away, 
and the Queen of Navarre no longer contemplated 



1 As much I seek th* cross and it desire, 
As formerly I wished from it to flee ; 
So much by torments tow'rd it I a.spire, 
As once I feared its heavy martyry. 
Because this cross doth draw my soul to God; 
To go to see Him 'tis the most sure road, 
Whereby all goods that in the world may be, 
Eorsake will I : the cross shall suflBce me. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MARGUERITE 69 



anything but eternity. Her inquiring mind sought 
to penetrate, the secrets of the tomb. Resigned as 
she was to the will of 'God, Brantome tells us that 
she had moments of perplexity and uneasiness con- 
cerning the mysteries of the future life. 

One day, when some one Avas speaking to her of 
the splendors of heaven and the joys of the elect, 
"All that is true," said she, "but we lie so long 
dead in the ground before arriving there!" Bran- 
t6me also relates that, being present while one of her 
chambermaids was in her death agony, she watched 
the last moments of the dying woman with anxiety, 
and looked fixedly at the already icy visage. One of 
her maids of honor having asked her why, she replied 
"that having heard many learned doctors say that 
the soul and spirit left the body as soon as it died, 
she wanted to see if there came from it any noise 
or the least echo in the world of their removal and 
departure, but that she had perceived nothing." 
She added that " if her faith were not very firm, she 
would not know what to think of this dislodgment 
and disrupture of the soul and the body: but that 
she wished to believe what her God and her Church 
enjoined without carrying her curiosity any further." 

The hour when she was to sound the great mys- 
tery was at hand. According to Sainte-Marthe, the 
presentiments which had announced the death of 
Francis to Marguerite were renewed to warn her 
of her own. A woman dressed in white appeared 
to her in a dream, and showing her a crown of 



70 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

flowers said in a low voice: "A bientSt.''^ On 
awaking, Marguerite comprehended that God was 
recalling her to Himself. She fell sick a few days 
later, and after three weeks of suffering, endured 
in a Christian spirit, she died at Odos-en-Bigorre, 
December 21, 1549, in her fifty-eighth year. Her 
last word was "Jesus ! " 

Few queens have been so much regretted by their 
subjects as the woman who had been "the help and 
protector of good literature, and the defence, shelter, 
and consolation of the distressed." The historian 
of B^arn exclaims, when speaking of this death: 
"It seems to me that the sun hides itself, that day 
becomes night, that the Muses depart with her, that 
the learned, tired of living, sink down at this one 
stroke." The poor were overwhelmed with grief. 
" How many widows are there, ' ' says Sainte-Marthe, 
"how many orphans, how many afflicted, how many 
old persons whom she pensioned every year, and 
who now, like sheep whose shepherd is dead, wan- 
der hither and thither, seeking to whom to go, 
crying in the ears of wealthy people, and deploring 
their miserable fate! " 

The learned and the poets made it a duty to 
celebrate their protectress in funeral orations and 
in poems. To the tenth Muse, the fourth of 
the Graces, to the illustrious sister and wife of 
kings : — ■ 

1 Till very soon. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MABGUEBITE 71 



"Musarum decima et Charitum qiiarta, inclyta regum 
Et soror et conjux, Margaris ilia jacet." 

Ronsard dedicated to her a lyric poem worthy of 
the woman of whom he sang : — 

" Comme les herbes fleuries 
Sont les houneurs des prairies, 
Et des pres les ruisselets, 
De I'orme la oigne aimee, 
Des bocages la ramee, 
Des champs les bles nouvelets ; 

" Ainsi tu fus, 6 princesse, 
(Ain9ois plutot, 6 deesse !) 
Tu fus la perle et I'honneur 
Des princesses de notre age, 
Soit en splendeur de lignage, 
Soit en biens, soit en bonheur. 

" II ne f aut point qu'on te f asse 
Un sepulcre qui embrasse 
Mille termes en un rond, 
Pompeux d'ouvrages antiques, 
Et brave en piliers doriques 
lEleves a double front. 

" L'airain, le marbre et le cuivrc 
Font tant seulement revivre 
Ceux qui meurent sans renora, 
Et desquels la sepulture 
Presse sous merae culture 
Le corps, la vie et le nom. 

" Mais toi dont la renommee 
Porte d'une aile anim^e 



72 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS L 

Par le monde tes valeurs, 
Mieux que ces pointes superbes, 
Te plaisent les douces herbes 
Les fontaines et les fleurs.''^ 



1 As flowering herbs 
Are the glory of meadows, 
And rivulets of meads, 
The beloved vine of the elm, 
Green boughs of the shady wood, 
And sprouting grain of fields ; 

So thou, princess, 
(Say rather, goddess !) 
Wert the pearl and the glory 
Of the princesses of our age, 
Whether in splendor of lineage, 
Of possessions, or of happiness. 

We must not make for thee 
A sepulchre which should embrace, 
A myriad statues in one round, 
Pompous with antique works, 
And brave in Doric pillars 
Reared up in double rows. 

Bronze, marble, and copper 

Can do so much but to revive 

Those who die without renown, 

And whose sepulture 

Weighs down beneath the same pressure 

The body, the life, and the name. 

But thou, of whom the renown 
A living pen 

Bears through the world the worth, 
Better than those proud peaks, 
Thou art pleased with gentle shrubs. 
With fountains, and with flowers. 



THE LAST YEARS OF MABGUERITE 73 



M. Nisard has said with exquisite grace: "The 
poets called the marguerite the queen of flowers, 
and what would most often be an insipid flattery 
was then an expression of sentiment. The gentle 
spirit of this princess, this perfume of delicacy and 
goodness in writings more amiable than brilliant, 
these pleasingly blended rather than vivid colors, 
these charming perfections of a secondary order, 
are they not of the marguerite species ? " 

We have studied the moral qualities of the Queen 
of Navarre. It remains to glance rapidly over her 
writings, and to prove that in her case the style was 
the woman. 



VI 



POEMS AND LETTEES OF MAEGUERITE d'ANGOU- 

LEME 

THE Queen of Navarre owes her celebrity as 
much to her writings as to her actions. The 
qualities of mind and heart which made of her an 
elect lady are found in her poems, her letters, and 
her tales. Placing the prot^gd and the protectress 
in the same rank, an eminent critic^ has observed: 
"Marguerite and Marot are not writers of genius; 
they perfect the French spirit within the some- 
what narrow circle in which it remained enclosed 
during the Middle Ages rather than add to its ideas 
or widen its horizon. The truths they express 
are most frequently those which art neglects, so 
familiar and present with us are they. Without 
our knowing it, a great many please us on account 
of the period of the language, and the idea that they 
were novelties to our fathers. But the progress of 
the French mind throws off at length the rust of 
the Middle Ages, and this very state of the language 
assures to Marguerite and to Marot a durable place 

1 M. Desire Nisard, Histoire de la Litterature. 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MARGUERITE 75 



in that fecund sixteenth century whose dawn is in 
a measure announced by the soft and pleasing lustre 
of their writings." 

No one can appreciate an author rightly without 
knowing the century in which he lived. The lite- 
rary defects of the Queen of Navarre are those of 
her epoch, while the merits of her writings are 
wholly her own. The French lyre had not been 
tuned, and French poetry was more like a chrysalis 
than like a butterfly floating in an azure sky. As 
M. Georges Guiffrey^ has said so well: "They 
were looking for the road then, and only advanced 
by dint of long groping and heavy labor. . . . The 
expeditions of Louis XII. and Francis I. into the 
country of Dante and Petrarch revealed unknown 
treasures. Our tongue essayed these ornaments 
which could not be mastered at the first trial ; they 
had to be cut to fit; our language itself had need 
of being improved and polished. At the beginning 
of the sixteenth century this labor exhausted the 
efforts and the talents of our authors. It was an 
ungrateful task, but one worthy of gratitude, for it 
provided the riches of the future." 

The verses composed at this period of transition 
often resemble prose, and are rather to be called 
versification than poetry. At every step they are 
hindered in their course by the obstacles of the 



1 Preface to an unpublished poem by Jehan Marot, published by 
M. Guiffrey, 1 vol. Renouard. 



76 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

language. Hardly do we find a few good grains 
amidst the tares, a few particles of gold among the 
artificial gems and vulgar ornaments. Unskilful 
imitations of antiquity, exaggerated and pretentious 
metaphors, prolixities, and harsh accents abound in 
all these pieces of verse, wherein the art of making 
melody is usually more apparent than the melody 
itself. The Muse, somewhat barbarous still, does 
not yet know how to wear her chlamys. Her gait 
is awkward. Her voice, harmonious at moments, 
quickly relapses into monotony and hoarseness. 
" The best poets of the time, to begin with Marot, 
often made detestable verses, just as the worst 
rhymsters sometimes hit upon very pretty chances. 
In this respect the entire sixteenth century affords 
something like a continual and confused effort at 
extrication. Francis I., from the day he ascended 
the throne, gave the signal for this puissant labor 
which was to aid in expanding and definitely 
polishing the French language. Thanks to the 
impulse given by him from above, there was soon a 
universal clearing of the ground all around him."^ 
A poet himself, he served as an example to his 
court. In default of a great talent, he had a real 
passion for poetry, and, like the trouveres, he liked 
to make use of the lyre and the sword by turns. ^ 
His verses, too celebrated in his lifetime, and too 

1 M. Sainte-Beuve, Portraits litteraires, t. iii. 

2 Franqois Z**", poete, poems and correspondence collected and 
published by M. Aime Champollion-Figeac, 1 vol. 1837. 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MABGUERITE 77 



quickly forgotten afterwards, have happily been 
brought to light again. They show, in spite of all 
their imperfections, that the king had not stifled 
the poet, and that a heart, sensitive to art, beat 
underneath the lily-embroidered mantle. In the 
sorrowful epochs of his career, Francis I. always 
recurred to poetry. It is a proof that he loved it 
sincerely. It served him to formulate one of the 
most melancholy and most striking judgments that 
ever monarch pronounced on the nothingness of 
the grandeurs of this lower world : — 

" Plus j'ai de biens, plus ma douleur augmente ; 
Plus j'ai d'honneur et moins je me contente, 
Car un re^u m'en fait cent desirer. 
Quand rien je n'ai, de rien ne me lamente, 
Mais ayaiit tout, la crainte me tourmente 
Ou de le perdre, ou bien de I'empirer. 
Las, je dois bien mon malheur soupirer, 
Vu que d'avoir un bien je meurs d'envie, 
Qui est ma mort, et je I'estime vie." ^ 

Marguerite was doubly the sister of Francis I., 
by nature and by poetry. It pleased her to write 



1 The more my goods, the more my sorrow grows ; 
The more my honors, less is my content ; 
Por one I gain, a hundred I desire. 
When nought I have, for nothing I lament ; 
But having all, the fear doth me torment, 
Either to lose it or to make it worse. 
Tired, full well may I my misery mourn, 
Seeing I die of envy but to have a good, 
Which is my death, and I esteem it life. 



78 MARGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

in verse to this brother, so ranch admired and loved, 
for whom all the treasures of lyrical language 
seemed to her not rich enough.^ M. Sainte-Beuve, 
who has made a profound study of the poetry of the 
sixteenth century, finds that "the talent of the 
illustrious sister is of an incomparably different 
order from that of the King; every time she takes 
the pen, the reader feels it in the firmness of tone, 
and a certain elevation of thought. Yet we must 
not expect, even from her, a delicacy of taste which 
did not then exist, nor a long succession of good 
verses such as at this date it was not given to any 
but the fluent vein of Marot to produce." 

The poetry of the Queen of Navarre appeared 
in Lyons, in 1547, under the title: Les Marguerites 
de la Marguerite des Princesses. It is a collection 
of little poems, fugitive pieces, epistles, chansons, 
and ballads. The mystical element stands for much 
in it. The Miroir de Vdme fecJieresse^ for example, 
which brought down on the Queen the wrath of 
Noel Beda, the syndic of the Theological Faculty, 
is merely a commentary on various passages of 
Scripture. The history of the Satyres et des 
Nymplies de Diane imitate, but ungracefully, the 
style of Ovid. The Coche^ or the Dehat d' Amour., 
is a versified thesis on matters of gallantry more 
insipid than attractive. There is nothing very 



1 Marguerite's poems occupy much space in M. CliampoUion- 
Figeac's collection. 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MAEGUERITE 70 



remarkable in any of the productions we have just 
mentioned. But beside these attempts there are 
verses truly poetic: they are those in which the 
Queen, no longer inspired by her wit, but by her 
heart, seeks neither literary effect nor parasitic orna- 
ments, but obeys the impulse of a profoundly sensi- 
tive soul. Sensibility is the distinctive character 
of the poems in which she is really moving, because 
she is really moved. Does she speak of her inner 
life, her sorrows, her vexations? she becomes elo- 
quent : — 

" Rien ne nous rend si grands qu'une grande douleur." i 

At her brother's death she was reminded of 
Dante : — 

" Douleur n'y a qu'au temps de la misere 
Se recorder de I'heureux et prospere, 
Comme autrefois en Dante j'ai trouve : 
Mais le sais mieux pour avoir eprouve, 
Felicite et infortune austere. 
Prosperite m'a fait trop bonne chere, 
Pour tot apres me la rendre si chere : 
Helas ! mon Dieu, que m'est-il arrive ? 
Douleur ! 

" Voire en fa9on que presque en desespere 
D'avoir perdu tant d'amis et mon frere 
Que tant valait ! il est assez prouve ! 



1 Nothing makes us so great as a great sorrow. 

— Alfred ve Mlsset. 



80 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

Or, quelque ennui qu'un coeur est aggrave 
vous remets ma perte aigre et amere 
Douleur!"! 

Poetry and religion were her two consolers. As 
she says so well : — 

" Un mal va tou jours empirant, 
Et s'il est tel qu'il ne puisse etre pire 
II s'amoindrit quelquef ois a le dire." ^ 

Looking at her crucifix, she exclaims : — 

" C'est mon vouloir et propos arrete 
De n'etre plus celle-lk qu'ai ete, 
Ni m'amuser du miserable monde, 



1 No grief is like tliat which in time of wretchedness, 
Eecalls to mind times prosperous and happy, 
As formerly I learned in Dante's page, 
Yet know still better now from having proved 
Felicity and most austere misfortune. 
Prosperity hath feasted me too well 
To rate good cheer so soon at such high price : 
Alas ! my God, what has happened to me ? 
Anguish ! 

Indeed, since I am almost in despair, 
At having lost so many friends and my brother, 
Whose worth was great ! the case is well made out. 
Now, whatsoever grief weighs down my heart, 
In you recalls my piercing loss, and bitter 
Anguish ! 

2 An evil ever goes from bad to worse, 
And if it be one that can be no worse, 
Sometimes it lessens it to tell it. 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MARGUEBITE 81 



Vu la douleur qui y regne et abonde, 

Dont jour et nuit rnon coeur est tourmente." ^ 

In a burst of piety worthy of a Saint Theresa, she 
composes this religious chant, wherein love divine 
utters a cry reaching even unto death : — 

" Seigneur, quand viendra le jour 

Tant desire, 
Que je serai par amour 

A vous tire. 
Ce jour de noces, Seigneur, 

Me tarde tant ! 
Que de nul bien ni lionneur 

Ne suis content. 
Essuyer des tristes yeux 

Le long gemir, 
Et me donnez pour le mieux 

Un doux dormir." ^ 

1 It is my will and firm intent 
To be no more what I have been, 
Nor to amuse myself in this poor world, 
Seeing the griefs that reign there and abound, 
And which by day and night torment my heart. 

2 Lord, when shall come the day 

I long to see, 
When by pure love I shall 

Be drawn to Thee. 
That nuptial day, O Lord, 

So long delays, 
That no content I find 

In wealth or praise. 
Wipe from these sorrowing eyes 

The tear that flows. 
And grant me Thy best gift, 

A sweet repose. 



82 MABGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

Is not that fitting language for a woman who said 
she "had borne more than her load of the ennui 
common to every well-born creature " ? 

Every time that she abandons artificial common- 
places then in fashion, and suffers her soul alone to 
speak, Marguerite utters strains that are really 
inspired. The verses dedicated to her brother are 
always noble and pathetic because they issue from 
her heart; her style gains in strength and ardor. 
The portrait she traces of her king is magnificent. 
The odes of Pindar are not inspired by a more 
exalted influence. 

" C'est lui que ciel et terre et mer contemple, 
La terre a joie, le voyant revetu 
D'une beaute qui n'a point de semblable, 
Aupres duquel tous beaux sont un f etu. 
La mer, devant son pouvoir redoutable, 
Douce se rend, connaissant sa bonte, 
Et est pour lui contre tous secourable. 
Le ciel s'abaisse et, par amour dompte, 
Vient admirer et voir le personnage 
Dont on lui a tant de vertu conte. 
C'est lui qui a grace et parler de maitre, 
Digne d'avoir sur tous grace et puissance, 
Qui, sans noramer, se pent assez connaifcre. 
C'est lui de tout qui a la connaissance 
Et un savoir qui n'a point de pareil. 
II n'y a rien dont il ait ignorance. 
De sa beaute il est blanc et vermeil, 
Les cheveux bruns, de grande et belle taille ; 
En terre il est comme au ciel le soleil 
Hardi, vaillant, sage et pieux en bataille ; 



P0E3IS AND LETTERS OF MARGUERITE 83 



Fort et puissant, qui ne peut avoir peur 
Que prince nul tant soit puissant I'assaille. 
II est benin, doux, humble en sa grandeur, 
Fort et puissant, et plein de patience, 
Soit en prison, en tristesse et mallieur. 
II a de Dieu la parfaite science 
Que doit avoir un roi tout plein de foi, 
Bon jugement et bonne conscience; 
De son Dieu garde I'honneur et la loi ; 
A ses sujets doux support et justice ; 
Bref, lui tout seul est digne d'etre roi." ^ 



1 'Tis he whom sky and earth and sea contemplate, 
The earth is joyous, seeing him invested 
With beauty passing all comparison, 
Near which all else that's fair's not worth a farthing. 
The sea before his formidable power 
Becometh gentle, knowing all his goodness, 
And against all men ready is to help him. 
The sky bends down and by love over-mastered, 
Comes to admire and see the personage 
Of whom so much thafs good hath been recounted. 
'Tis he hath grace, and like a master speaketh. 
Who, without naming, knows himself most fully. 
He that of all things hath the cognizance 
And knowledge that hath nowhere any peer. 
Nor is there aught of which he knowetli nothing. 
As for his beauty, he is white and ruddy. 
Brown are his locks, and tall and fine his figure ; 
He is on earth most like the sun in licaven, 
Bold, valiant, wise and doughty he in battle ; 
Mighty and strong, who never could be frightened, 
What prince however powerful assail him. 
He is benign, sweet, humble in his grandeur. 
Mighty and strong, replenished too with patience, 
Whether in prison, or in woe and sorrow. 
He hath of God the full and perfect science, 
Fitting a king whose faith is nowhere lacking, 



84 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

Apparent as it is, the exaggeration in this does 
not shock because it proceeds from a sincere senti- 
ment, a real admiration, and not from a base and 
fawning spirit. Marguerite's affection for her 
brother is a cult. It is this pure and noble passion 
which imparts a penetrating charm to her corre- 
spondence= Michelet has very well said: "The 
volume of letters addressed to the King amazes 
and perplexes one, not by the vehemence, but the 
invariable permanence of a sentiment which is 
always the same, which has neither phrases nor 
crises of diminution or increase, which has neither 
heights nor depths. The whole life of this infinitely 
pure person was replenished by a single sentiment. 
The immense and charming collection of Madame 
de Sevign^'s letters alone remind us of these. Mar- 
guerite's sometimes have their charm (for example 
when she writes the captive King what his children 
are doing), and they have above all their passion and 
inexhaustible emotion." Their style is firm and 
concise ; the Queen of Navarre says clearly what she 
desires to say. There is a perfect agreement between 
her expression and her thought. 

One is all the more grateful to Marguerite for this 
excellent diction, seeing that the bad taste of the 
period furnished her with quite different models. M. 

Nor yet his judgment nor his healthy conscience ; 
He heecleth of his God the law and honor ; 
Is to his subjects sweet support and justice ; 
In brief, to be a king he sole is worthy. 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MAEGUERITE 85 



G^nin has justly remarked that "Marguerite must 
have been gifted by nature with great solidity of judg- 
ment and exquisite good sense, or she would have 
been entirely spoiled by her frequent intercourse with 
a mystic so forcible as Bishop Bri^onnet." The 
manuscript of this religious correspondence, which 
belongs to the Imperial Library, contains not less 
than eight hundred pages, and it is difficult to 
give a notion of such a medley of inflated meta- 
phors and mystic enigmas. "Oh! how blessed is 
the faithful soul," exclaims the bishop on the 
subject of the Incarnation, "who, through union 
with the bullet of the double cannon cast in the 
virginal furnace, full primed with powder, is 
enkindled by charity to take by force the kingdom 
of heaven, until then impregnable! O resonant 
abyss, and infinite mine of annihilating powder, 
and furnace of inextinguishable love, attracting all, 
attracting everywhere ! " Intoxicated by the jargon 
of mysticism, as Don Quixote was by the romances 
of chivalry, the same prelate writes to Marguerite: 
"Madame, he who is desert is swallowed up in 
desert; seeking the desert and not able to find it; 
and when he finds it is yet more perplexed, is a 
bad guide to guide another out of the desert and lead 
him into the desert desired. Desert and hungered 
with death-producing hunger, how long till it be 
crowded to the eyes ! " And so on through an inter- 
minable series of phrases in tlie same style. Every- 
thing about this correspondence is ridiculous. 



86 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I, 

Marguerite was only thirty years old, Brigonnet 
fifty-five. And in writing to him she signs herself: 
"Your useless mother." Another time she signs: 
" Your freezing, thirsty, and hungry daughter, worse 
than dead, the living dead, Marguerite." 

It is a singular thing that the century which 
enjoyed Erasmus admired Bishop Brigonnet. Twice 
he was Ambassador Extraordinary at Rome. He 
represented France in the councils of Pisa and of 
Lateran. He was considered a thunderbolt of relig- 
ious eloquence. But Marguerite, who had at least 
as much good sense as wit, at last wearied of this 
worse than idle nonsense. 

She humbly entreated the prelate to employ fewer 
metaphors. " The poor wandering sheep," she wrote 
to him, "cannot understand what good there is in 
the desert for lack of knowing that she is deserted ; 
she prays you, by your affection, not to run so fast 
in this desert that no one can follow you, and so 
the abyss called on by the abyss, may end by engulf- 
ing the poor wandering sheep." The correspon- 
dence with BriQonnet ended in 1525. Freed from 
this direction which, applied to another woman, 
might have made her the author of ridiculous 
affectations. Marguerite wrote with the naturalness, 
simplicity, and lofty charm which thenceforward 
characterized her style. 

"Marguerite's letters, nearly all of them addressed 
to her brother, although less lively in manner than 
her tales, on account of the respectful formalities 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MARGUERITE 87 



she observed toward the king even when expressing 
the tenderest attachment for the brother, are full of 
the same gentleness, address, and suggestiveness 
which one admires in the conversation of Dame 
Oisille. The diction is the same, abundant, facile, 
free from strong expressions or audacities, save in 
some passages on God, where Marguerite, moved 
sometimes by faith, and again by sentiment, rises 
to those thoughts which can only be translated b}^ 
expressions created for them.''^ The style is at 
once noble and familiar. Every line displays pro- 
found affection and a devotion equal to all proof. 
The reader is convinced that for this brother so 
much beloved, the woman who is the model of 
sisters would sacrifice even the last drop of her 
blood. 

Marguerite is truly eloquent in her letters. Ho^^ 
moved she is, and how easily she communicates 
her emotion when, on the road to Madrid, she 
writes to the royal captive: " Monseigneur, I know 
well the force of that love which our Lord has put 
into us three, 2 for what I thought impossible when 
considering only myself, is easy when I remember 
you. Supplicating Him who gave me being not to 
leave it so useless that it may not serve for that 
deliverance for which I could account all servitude 



1 M. Desire Nisard, Histoire cle la Utterature fra)i{;aise. 

2 Francis I., Louise of Savoy, and Marguerite. Cardinal Bi- 
biena called them the Trinity. Che scrivere a Liiisa di Savoia 
era come scrivere alia stessa Trinita. 



88 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

a gracious freedom!" How one feels her sincerity 
when she writes again, December 2, 1525: "To 
serve you is the only reason that makes me desire 
life, strength, and health, for death, after having 
done something toward that good which I desire, 
could be so joyful to me that I would esteem it a 
redoubled life!" How she consoles the prisoner! 
" God is for you, seeing that His word is true, which 
promises that He will be with those who are in 
tribulation, whereby I see you surrounded on every 
side." And when she comes back alone from Spain, 
how she considers "more than ever wretched" her 
litter, which has not had the good fortune to bring 
back the King! 

In 1536, Charles V. in a discourse pronounced at 
Rome in full consistory, before the Pope and the 
cardinals, had insulted Francis I. Marguerite, in- 
dignant, writes to her brother : " All women long to 
be men to aid you in bringing down his pridco" 

The Imperialists had invaded the south of France. 
To serve her country and her king, Marguerite feels 
the courage of an Amazon. After having visited 
the French camp at Avignon, she writes to Fran- 
cis I. : " Monseigneur, although it is not for me to 
praise a thing of which my condition makes me 
ignorant, yet I cannot help writing you that all the 
captains have assured me they have never seen a 
camp so strong and suitable as this one." This 
valiant army electrifies her. "I would be too 
happy," she says, "to die with so many virtuous 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MARGUERITE 89 



persons. . . . Please God, the Emperor may try 
to cross the Rhone Avhile I am here. All woman 
as I am, I would undertake to prevent him from 
passing it at the risk of my life." Every time that 
Francis 1. goes to war, she longs to have the right 
to follow him. "I would renounce my royal blood,'' 
she writes to him in 1537, "to be chambermaid to 
your washerwoman, and I give you my faith, Mon- 
seigneur, that far from regretting my robe of cloth 
of gold, I greatly long to be of service to you in 
disguise." With what effusion she thanks him, 
in November, 1542, for a visit he had paid her at 
Nerac ! " Monseigneur, the honor of having received 
you in this poor house, and regret at not having 
been able to welcome you according to my desire 
and resolution, have so much amazed me, that, but 
for the joy of seeing you in such health as all your 
family must desire, I should have been unable to 
bear this sudden glimpse of so great a good so ill 
received." Her gratitude, which exaggerates the 
least benefits received from her brother, is expressed 
in the most ardent terms: "I remain the most 
indebted creature to you that ever was, seeing that 
it pleases you to do so much for me as King, master, 
father, brother, and true friend, that I can never 
consider you under any of these aspects without 
finding myself astonished by the love you are pleased 
to display for me, so great that if Almighty God 
does not repay you this charity, I shall complain 
of the severity of His bounty." 



90 MARGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

Among all Marguerite's letters, that which has 
most affected us, that which seems to show her ten- 
der and sympathetic character the best, is dated in 
January, 1543. After ten years of marriage, Cath- 
erine de' Medici, who had been considered barren, 
had just given birth to a son, the future Francis II. 
Marguerite, who was then ill, learned the happy 
tidings. She trembled with joy. " Monseigneur, " 
she wrote to Francis I., "this is the most beauti- 
ful, the most desired, and most necessary day that 
ever your eyes and those of your realm have seen ; 
it is a day worthy to drive away from you the night 
of all the vexations of the past year; it is a day so 
efficacious, that, in bringing you the title of grand- 
father, it makes you fifty years younger. Your new 
successor prolongs the pleasure of your possession; 
his new nativity renews your own." Her patriotism 
as a Frenchwoman, and her tenderness as a sister 
are alike excited. "What more," she says, "could 
you ask of God in this world? All this last year 
you have felt His mighty hand battling for you 
against your enemies visible and invisible, so that 
neither their forces nor their intentions have been 
able to injure either your kingdom or your person ; 
but you have remained a victorious, wise, and con- 
quering King. All these beautiful titles are crowned 
by that God has now given you, of grandfather." 
She imagines her brother so happy! "I see in 
spirit all those whom you love rejoice even to 
weeping, and I behold the tears which, I am 



POEMS AND LETTERS OF MARGUERITE 91 

sure, spring to your eyes from a greater joy tlian I 
saw you experience at the birth of your first born." 
Happiness cured Marguerite. "The malady would 
be very great which could not be converted into 
health, or which wovild prevent me from going in 
procession with the people to make bonfires." The 
letter ends with a Christian thought, an acknowl- 
edgment, a sort of canticle of thanksgiving to God, 
the author of all joy. Happy or unhappy, Mar- 
guerite's heart always beats for heaven. Non 
inferiora secutus. 



VII 



THE HEPTAMERON 



FROM the literary point of view, Marguerite's 
principal title to fame is the Heptameron.^ 
Not many works have represented a society more 
faithfully. One feels that, according to the author's 
programme, there is " none of its tales which is not 
a true history." The gentlemen set on the stage by 
the Queen of Navarre have lived. I seem to meet 
them when I pass through the galleries of Fontaine- 
bleau or Chambord. The echo of their shouts of 
laughter and their gallant speeches comes to my ear. 
I think of their sword-thrusts, their gallant adven- 
tures, their loves and their troubles. I love the 
Gallic frankness of this work where sadness blends 
with gaiety; where the divine follows the profane; 
where the words of Holy Writ alternate with phrases 
in the manner of Brant6me ; where all unites and is 
amalgamated as in human life; where a whole epoch 
is resuscitated. 

What animation there is in these piquant conver- 
sations between gentlemen who rebel against the 

1 See the excellent edition published by M. Le Roux de Lincy, 
and the remarkable introduction which precedes it. 

92 



THE IIEPTAMERON 93 



metaphysics of sentiment, and women who are witty 
but somewhat coquettish, who protest as well as they 
can against the non-Platonic principles of their se7'vi- 
teurs! ''Thence arise a quantity of delicate ideas, 
refined observations, and many charming creations 
in the language of sentiment, heart, and politeness. 
One feels that the social spirit, the taste for the 
pleasures of intelligence, have penetrated into the 
French higher classes; that people reflect, analyze, 
and study themselves more." ^ 

With the sixteenth century begins what is later 
called fashionable life (la vie de salon). The French 
mind acquires the charm of elegance. People begin 
to learn how to treat questions gracefully without 
going into them profoundly ; to pass rapidly from one 
subject to another; to run over the whole gamut of 
sentiments and ideas with the light hand of a lute- 
player. The Contes de la reine de Navarre give us a 
curious specimen of the conversations a la mode 
under the reign of Francis I. The women, Avho, 
until then had been relegated to the depths of feudal 
dungeons, had now come to enliven the court by 
their presence. An habitual visiting was established 
between the two sexes, and " in this first contact, the 
instincts of reserve and delicacy, which are woman's 
natural attribute, began to feel, though not without 
resistance, the influence of the grosser tastes of man." 
As has been extremely well remarked by M. de 



1 M. D6sir6 Nisard, Histoire de la litter ature fraiK^aise. 



94 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

Lomenie, it is this combat between two contrary ten- 
dencies which is painted to the life in the ITeptam- 
eron. " Then although the feminine mind, with its 
refinements, triumphs where the matter of questions 
is concerned, it yields more or less in manner to the 
impulse given by the stronger sex. It is not until 
the following century that the feminine mind, more 
inured to warfare, will take its revenge, and, before 
equilibrium is re-established, will obtrude itself even 
to excess." Like nearly all productions of the six- 
teenth century, les Contes de la reine de Navarre are 
full of contrasts, the brutalities of the Middle Ages 
being on an equal footing with all that is most grace- 
ful and refined in the modern spirit. 

Marguerite had not invented this species of litera- 
ture. She imitated Boccaccio, whose immortal De- 
cameron, the masterpiece of Italian prose, had 
produced works modelled on the same plan in 
every European language. In the soirees of that 
epoch, when cards and dancing took no such pre- 
eminence as at present, the ladies took pleasure in 
listening to the reading of tales which were some- 
times interesting and tragic, and nearly always gal- 
lant and licentious. It was one of the fashionable 
diversions of high society in those days. The Queen 
of Navarre, incited by a sort of literary ambition, 
wished to emulate an author who provided the enter- 
tainment of the court. She was a Boccaccio of the 
female sex, with less genius but perhaps more sensibil- 
ity, and, in any case, with more edifying conclusions. 



THE HEPTAMERON 95 



Marguerite has placed the scene of the Heptam- 
eron in a picturesque part of the Pyrenees, in the 
midst of torrents, rocks, and mountains, opposite the 
beautiful Aspe valley, a setting both charming and 
magnificent. Several persons of quality, both French 
and Spanish, have assembled in September at the 
baths of Cauterets. After a few weeks the Spaniards 
have been able to return to their own country ; but 
the French have been stopped on the road by the 
rise of the streams. 

The Bearnais Gave having overflowed its banks, 
they have been obliged to seek refuge in the mon- 
astery of Our Lady of Servance, until the inundation 
should cease. What are they to do until the roads 
become passable? How occupy the interminable 
days? How succeed in being patient? They con- 
sult Dame Oisille, a widow famous for her wisdom : 
"M}^ children," she responds, "you ask me a very 
difficult thing, to teach you a pastime which shall 
free you from weariness, for, having sought the 
remedy all my life, I have never found but one, 
which is the reading of the Sacred Writings (the 
Old and New Testaments), in which is found the 
true and perfect joy of the spirit, from whence pro- 
ceeds the repose and health of the body." A younger 
and less austere woman than Dame Oisille, Parlamente, 
then makes a motion which is well received. "I 
think," she says, " that there is none of us who has 
not read the Hundred tales of Boccaccio, newly 
translated from Italian into French, and so highly 



96 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

spoken of by King Francis, the first of his name, 
and by Monseigneur the Dauphin, Madame the 
Dauphiness, and Madame Marguerite, that if Boc- 
caccio could hear them where he now is, he would 
come to life again at the praise of such persons." 
Then, after proposing to follow the example of the 
illustrious story-teller, " If it pleases you," she adds, 
" we might go every day, from noon to four o'clock, 
into that beautiful meadow beside the Gave, where 
the trees are so thick that the sun cannot dispel the 
shade nor overheat the cool air ; there, sitting at our 
ease, each of us might relate some history we have 
known or else heard from some one worthy of cre- 
dence. We might finish the Hundred by the end of 
ten days." 

Parlamente's remarks are applauded. Then it is 
agreed that the time shall be divided between sacred 
and profane things. In the mornings the company 
shall assemble in the room of Dame Oisille to be 
present at her moral readings. From there they will 
go to hear Mass. The venerable matron has said: 
"It seems to me that if you would give an hour 
every morning to reading the Bible, and then pray 
devoutly during Mass, you would find in this desert 
the beauty which may be in all cities, because he 
who knows God sees all things fair in Him and all 
ugly without Him." After Mass came dinner. Then, 
at noon, they repair to the meadow, " So beautiful 
and pleasant that a Boccaccio would be needed to 
describe it." And there each relates his story, and 



THE HEPTAMEEON 97 



chooses the narrator who shall follow him. Each 
story is followed by a conversation in which the 
whole company takes part. 

Some approve the conduct of the hero or the 
heroine. Others condemn it severely. There are 
paradoxical opinions and judicious ones. The gen- 
tlemen often hold morality very cheap, but tlie 
ladies protest in the name of virtue. Oisille, the 
experienced widow, is the soul of the reunion. She 
regulates the order of the Tales ; she is the court of 
last resort in delicate questions and the most arduous 
problems of sentimental casuistry; she formulates 
the most serious reflections on human frailty, the 
bitterness of the passions, the inconsiderate ardor of 
youth and the illusions of hope. At four o'clock 
the monastery bell rings for Vespers. The company 
repair thither, not without making the good monks 
wait for them occasionally. However, they do not 
complain, but sometimes hide behind the hedge to 
overhear the stories. 

Dame Oisille, the woman whom every one respects. 
Dame Oisille wdio is witty without malice, virtuous 
without prudery, religious without affectation, is she 
not Marguerite herself ? In the gentlemen who are 
her interlocutors, does not one recognize masculine 
fatuity, and the favorite notion of men, that, after 
having had one successful siege there is no place 
which will not surrender? Now, as in the sixteentli 
century, who has not lieard the same imprecations 
against the so-called weaker sex, the same medley of 



98 MABGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS L 

anathemas and thanksgivings on the subject of Eve's 
daughters? Do we not know that race of husbands 
who disbelieve in the virtue of all wives except their 
own, and who are so often deceived in both judg- 
ments? In the surface of things there are changes 
from age to age. The foundation is always the same. 
People discuss intrigues in our existing salons as 
they did in the palace of the Queen of Navarre. 
Only, are there many of our fashionable women who 
do so with as much wit as Marguerite ? 

She knew what opinion to hold concerning the 
egotism of men who always have the word love 
in their mouths, but who so rarely have the thing 
itself in their hearts. " Do not think," says Guebron, 
one of the speakers in Tale XIV., " that those who 
pursue ladies take so much pains for love of them; 
no, no; for it is solely for love of themselves and 
their own pleasure." — " My faith," says Longarine, 
" I believe you ; for, to tell you the truth, all my ser- 
vitors have invariably begun by talking about me, 
and showing their desire for my life, welfare, and 
honor ; but they end with themselves, desiring their 
own pleasure and glory. Wherefore, the best way 
is to dismiss them after the first part of their sermon." 
— " Then," asks Emarsuite, " must we refuse a man 
as soon as he opens his mouth, without knowing 
what he meant to say?" — Parlamente ansAvers: 
" My opinion is that at the start a woman ought 
never to seem to understand what the man is coming 
to, nor yet, when he declares himself, to be able to 



THE HEPTAMERON 99 



believe him ; but when he comes to swearing it very 
strongly, it appears to me it would be more honest 
for ladies to leave him in that good road rather than 
to go down as far as the valley." — " But, Nomerfide, 
ought we to believe from that they love us from bad 
reasons? Isn't it forbidden to judge our neighbor?" 
— " You can believe what you like about it," says 
Oisille, " but you must fear lest it may be true, and 
from the moment that you perceive the least spark of 
it, you ought to fly ; this fire burns the heart all the 
Sooner when it is not perceived." 

How well the Queen of Navarre understood the 
' tricks, the deceits, and dangers of what we nowadays 
call flirtation. How well she knew how to discern 
the real sentiments of these professional lovers who 
mistake self-love for love, and who, in boasting that 
they adore such or such a beauty, have never wor- 
shipped anything but their personal ease and con- 
venience ! How wisely she estimated those sham 
attentions which cease when pleasure ends and 
devotion begins ! These brilliant seducers, who, like 
the Roman augurs, cannot look each other in the face 
without laughing, how well she knew how to make 
them speak in their own language ! Hircan swears 
in Tale XII. " that he has never known any woman, 
except his own wife, whom he did not wish to cause 
to offend God very grossly." Simonbault saj^s as 
much, and adds that he had wished all women wicked 
except his own. — Guebron says to him : " Truly ! 
You deserve that your own should be such as you 



100 MABGUEEITE, SISTER OF FBANCIS L 

would like to have the others ; but f oi* my part I can 
swear that I have loved a woman so much that I 
would far rather die than have her do for me any- 
thing which would cause me to esteem her less ; 
because my love was so founded on her virtues, that 
I would not have been willing to see a spot upon them 
for any good I might have known thereby." — Saf- 
fredant beginning to laugh, says to him : " I thought, 
Gu^bron, that the love of your wife and your own 
good sense had cured you of being amorous ; but I 
see they have not, for you are still employing the 
expressions with which we are accustomed to deceive 
the sharpest and gain the attention of the wisest; 
for what woman will close her ears when we com- 
mence at honor and virtue ? But if we should show 
them our hearts just as they are, there are many of us 
who are welcomed among ladies of whom they would 
make small account." 

It was all very well for the gentlemen of the Jlep- 
tameron never to miss Mass or Vespers, but they 
were hardened sinners all the same. Oisille and 
Parlamente have their hands full to moralize them. 
In one of the tales a prince (who is none other than 
Francis I.), on his return from a gallant adventure, 
stops at a convent of religious and performs his 
devotions. " Do you think," asks a lady of the 
company, "that these prayers were well-founded?" — 
" I suppose we ought not to judge," replies Parla- 
mente, " because it may be that on returning the re- 
pentance was such that the sin was forgiven him." — 



THE UEPTAMEBON 101 



"It is very difficult," says Hircan, "to repent of 
anything so pleasant. For my part, I have often 
confessed it but hardly ever repented." — " It would 
be better," says Oisille, "not to confess if one has not 
true repentance." — "Pray, Madame," replies Hircan, 
"I am grieved to have offended God; but the sin 
itself always pleases me." — "You and your like," 
says Parlamente, " would be glad if there were neither 
God nor law except such as your affection should 
ordain." — "I own to you," returns Hircan, "that I 
would like it if God took as great pleasure in my 
pleasures as I do, for I would often give Him matter 
for rejoicing." 

It is to these sensual, frankly corrupted men that 
Parlamente displays, at the end of Tale XIX., the 
ideal purity of real love. Emarsuite has just reLated 
the history of a gentleman and a young girl who, 
being unable to be united, had both embraced the 
religious life. When the story is ended, Hircan, 
instead of showing himself affected, cries : " Then 
there are more fools and mad women than there ever 
were ! " — "Do you call it folly," says Oisille, "to love 
honestly in youth and then to turn all this love to 
God?" — "And yet I have an opinion," says Parla- 
mente, "that no man will ever love God perfectly 
who has not perfectly loved some creature in tliis 
world." — "What do you mean by loving perfectly?" 
asks Saffredant. " Do you call those perfect lovers 
who are bashful and adore ladies from a distance, 
without daring to display their wishes?" — "I call 



102 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 



those perfect lovers," replies Parlamente, " who seek 
some perfection in what they love, whether goodness, 
beauty, or kindness, and whose hearts are so lofty 
and honest, that they would rather die than performi 
those base deeds which honor and conscience forbid ; 
for the soul, which was only created to return to its 
Sovereign Good, cannot, while it is in the body, do 
otherwise than desire to win thither. But because 
the senses by which they can have tidings of it are 
dull and carnal on account of the sin of our first 
parent, they can show it only those visible things 
which most nearly approach perfection, and the soul 
runs after them, believing that in visible grace and 
moral virtues it may find the sovereign beauty, grace, 
and virtue. But when it has sought and experienced 
them without finding whom it loves, it passes on like 
the child who, according to his littleness, loves apples, 
pears, dolls, and other little things the most beautiful 
that his eyes can see, and thinks it riches to heap 
little stones together ; but on growing larger, loves 
living things, and therefore amasses the goods neces- 
sary for hnman life; but he knows, by the greatest 
experiences, that in things one may possess there is 
neither perfection nor felicity, and he desires true 
felicity and the Maker and Source thereof." 

Amidst these light tales, after gay anecdotes and 
remarks which are often indecent, how many touch- 
ing words occur on the sorrows of the heart, the 
unhappiness of those who love and are not loved, on 
the chagrin of souls which, after dreaming of the 



THE HEPTAMERON \\)h 



ideal, are crushed beneath the weight of the reality ! 
''There is no burden so heavy," says Longarine in 
Tale XXL, ''that the love of two persons truly united 
cannot endure it ; but when one of them neglects his 
duty, and allows it all to fall upon the other, the 
weight is insupportable." — " Then," says Gudbron, 
" you should have pity on us, Avho carry all the love 
without your deigning to lighten it with the tip of a 
finger." — "Ah! Gudbron," says Parlamente, "the 
burdens of the man and those of the woman are often 
very different, because the love of woman, well 
founded and resting upon God and His honor, is so 
just and reasonable that he who would abandon such 
an affection ought to be esteemed recreant and per- 
verse toward God and all honest men. But the love 
of the majority of men being entirely based on pleas- 
ure, ignorant women, always the dupes of their evil 
will, sometimes engage themselves too deeply in 
tender commerce ; but when God makes them under- 
stand the malicious heart of him whom they thought 
good, they can withdraw with honor and good repute, 
for the shortest follies are always the best." 

In the Heptameroii the truest and most profound 
philosophical reflections often follow a merry tale. 
Marguerite, who had seen human grandeurs and 
pettinesses so close at hand, knew by experience that 
grief is at least as much at home beneath the domes 
of palaces as under roofs of straw ; that a robe of gold 
brocade or a splendid jewel has never consoled a real 
sorrow ; that Providence dispenses goods and ills here 



104 MAEGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

below with a less partial hand than people think ; and 
that the poor would be in the wrong to cast envious 
glances at the ostentatious dwellings of the power- 
ful. " For although poor people," it is said in Tale 
XXIX., " have neither goods nor honors like us, yet 
they have more of the commodities of nature than we 
do. Their viands are not savory, but their appetites 
are better than ours, and they nourish themselves 
better with coarse bread than we with rich soups. 
Their beds are not so handsome and well-made as 
ours, but they sleep better and rest more. They have 
not the painted and bedizened dames that we idolize ; 
but they enjoy their pleasures oftener than we, and 
without fearing gossip, unless that of the beasts and 
birds that see them. In brief, what we have they 
lack, and in what we have not they abound." 

With what noble firmness the Queen of Navarre 
vindicates the rights of woman ! " It is right," says 
Parlamente, " that man should govern us as our head, 
but not that he should abandon us or treat us ill." 
In the midst of this society where adultery is all 
the fashion, what fine thoughts on the sanctity and 
dignity of marriage ! " God," says Oisille in Tale 
XXXVIL, " has so well ordered both man and woman, 
that, if it is not abused, I think marriage one of the 
most beautiful and secure estates that can be in this 
world, and I am sure that all who are here, no matter 
what pretence they make, think as much or more ; 
and as much as man calls himself wiser than woman, 
so much the more grievously will he be punished 



THE HEPTAMERON 105 



if the fault is on his side." It is Oisille again 
who makes this remark whose profundity experi- 
ence must vouch for: "I am of the opinion that 
there is no perfect pleasure when the conscience is 
not at rest." Could the most eloquent preacher say 
anything better about the duties of women than Par- 
lamente in what follows ? " Those who are overcome 
by pleasure ought not to call themselves women any 
longer but men, whose honor is augmented by fury 
and concupiscence ; for a man who revenges himself 
on his enemy, and slays him for a contradiction, is 
esteemed a better companion for it ; and the same is 
true if he loves a dozen other women with his wife ; 
but the honor of women has another foundation : it is 
gentleness, patience, chastity." 

What does it matter after that, if one does find in- 
decent expressions and indelicate details in the Ilej^ 
tameronf The form is licentious, but the foundation 
is moral. The contrary is true of many productions 
of our own epoch. We must not forget how diffi- 
cult it is for a writer to detach himself from the 
milieu in which he lives. What really appertains 
to him is not the spectacle he is present at, but the 
conclusion he draws from it. From the moment 
when Marguerite undertook to draw a picture of the 
society that lay before her eyes, the first merit must 
be the resemblance between the portraits and the 
models. For the artist and the philosopher, as well 
as for the historian, is anything better than tlie truth ? 
The types of the Hepta7neron interest us because they 



106 MABGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

are real. Marguerite paints her contemporaries as 
they are, not as they ought to be. In the sixteenth 
century familiar conversation between well-bred per- 
sons had a freedom of expression and manners which 
no one thought of criticising. 

The books in vogue were the romances of chivalry 
in which love is so often described with naive bru- 
tality. Even in the Christian pulpit the preachers, 
and especially the monks, made coarse jokes with the 
intention of turning them to the glory of God and 
the confusion of the devil. Who does not recall the 
licentious subjects sculptured in wood or stone in 
certain cathedrals? If the element of indecency 
insinuated itself even into churches, can one be sur- 
prised at the immodest expressions which came — I 
admit it — so easily to the end of Marguerite's pen ? 
Let us not, moreover, be too severe on the crudities 
of our ancestors' speech, nor scandalized by their 
good Gallic laughter, their free and easy gaiety. 

Do not trumpet so loudly the prudery of our times. 
No one who is in the habit of listening to the con- 
versations in certain fashionable salons will go into 
ecstasies over their purity. The broad jests of our 
ancestors were possibly less dangerous to morals than 
the shady sentimentalities of many romancers and poets 
of our epoch. To call things by their own names, to 
say aloud what ever}^ one is secretly thinking, is not 
an actual crime. It is not by ribald tales and jests, 
d la Rabelais^ that one could succeed in corrupting 
delicate souls. In order that vice may be attractive, 



THE HEPTAMEBON 107 



it must soften its voice, cover itself Avith a rich man- 
tle, and have the language of devotion, sympathy, and 
fidelity ever on its tongue. 

Women have nothing to fear from a book like the 
Heptameron. What they ought to suspect is much 
rather that immoral literature, cloaked under the 
guise of prudery, which, confounding the alcove and 
the oratory, applies to guilty passions the language 
of divine love. The mystical rakes are probably the 
worst corruptors, and voluptuous pleasure has never 
so many seductions for souls endowed with the poetic 
instinct as when it is enveloped in a cloud of incense. 
The moments when the demon is to be most dreaded 
are those when he recalls the time when he was an 
angel. 



VIII 



CONCLUSION 



WHEN one has studied a historic figure for 
some time, he feels affection for the heart 
he has endeavored to revivify, for the soul which, 
in some other abode, perhaps follows the thoughts 
of those who perpetuate its memory. He feels 
himself contemporaneous with the persons whom he 
has, so to say, entered into communication with, 
although they have been lying in their graves for 
centuries, and by interesting himself in their joys 
and sorrows, he becomes, through force of imagina- 
tion, their guest and friend. Hence, when on the 
point of leaving them, he experiences an involuntary 
sadness. He would gladly prolong his farewells. 
It is such a sentiment as this which inclines us to 
ask the reader's permission to add somewhat more 
to a notice perhaps too long already, and to sum 
up, in a few words, the impression left on our own 
mind by the career of the sister of Francis I. 

One of the customary faults of biographers is 
that of overrating the historical importance of those 
whose lives they narrate. We would not commit 
this fault, nor exaggerate the part played by the 

108 



CONCLUSION 109 



Queen of Navarre. She was less remarkable for 
her deeds than for her intentions, and if she gave 
her brother lofty counsels, it must be admitted that 
she usually did so utterly in vain. Invoking against 
the vices and prejudices of her epoch those princi- 
ples of morality and justice, of tolerance and hu- 
manity which must be the very foundation of all 
stable society, she had dreamed that the most Chris- 
tian King might exert a tutelary and civilizing 
influence. She would have wished him to be every- 
where the protector of the oppressed, the support 
of the learned, the crowned apostle of the Renais- 
sance; that, while respecting dogmas, he should 
promote salutary reforms in the morals of the 
clergy, prevent religious wars by providing remedies 
for the abuses which were their cause or occasion, and 
direct, while confining within just limits, the move- 
ment which was spreading from one end of Europe 
to the other, and to which it was necessary to give 
satisfaction in some measure. In politics she would 
have desired that her brother, instead of wavering 
between all alliances, between all contradictions, 
should follow a straight line and methodically pur- 
sue the accomplishment of the legitimate ambitions 
of France. Francis I. preferred a perpetual change 
of ideas and systems, and by the fluctuations in his 
policy, he prepared the way for the disasters reserved 
for his race. Yet can it be said that Marguerite 
exerted no influence? Such an assertion would 
certainly be an error. Marguerite did not destroy 



110 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

the evil, but she lessened it. She did not succeed, 
in spite of all her efforts, in completely extinguish- 
ing the flames of the scaffolds, but she made them 
less frequent. She did' not save all the literary 
men, all the savants, but she snatched more than 
one of them from the hands of their persecutors. 
She did not inspire great virtues in Francis I., 
but she softened his fierce nature, she gave him a 
taste for letters and the arts, she developed religious 
sentiments in him which became sincere, and caused 
the monarch whose life had been so dissolute to 
repent, and to die like a good Christian. 

From the literary point of view, Marguerite is 
not a superior genius. She did not invent a style, 
she has not written a masterpiece. And yet she 
has rendered a real service to the French language. 
As M. Nisard has remarked: "The Heptameron is 
the first prose work that one can read without the 
aid of a vocabular3^ Permanent forms of expres- 
sion already form the substance of its style ; super- 
annuated modes are the exception." As a poet, the 
Queen of Navarre has added no new chords to the 
French lyre, but she has made those it already 
possessed vibrate with emotion, and, side by side 
with formless and defective attempts,, she has strophes 
which are worthy to survive. When she is inspired 
by her heart, as often happens, her whole soul passes 
into her poetry; one finds ardor in her thought, 
lyricism in her images. As Count Hector de la 
Ferri^re has said so well : " It is no longer an inert 



CONCLUSION 111 



instrument which obeys a given impulse, but a 
voice which complains, a heart which suffers and 
which tells us so. In such moments she surpasses 
the poets of her time ; she is, perhaps, the only one 
of her epoch who is inspired by her own sentiments, 
by her inner life, and who has spoken in that simple 
language which is the only one that befits great 
sorrows." For epistolary style she has given a true 
model, and her letters are as interesting for the 
precision and purity of their language, as for the 
noble simplicity of the ideas they express. The pub- 
lication of Marguerite's letters has illustrated her 
character most completely. " The half smile which 
might be granted to fancy, when naming the author 
of the Ueptameron, has gradually been displaced by 
a more serious and better founded appreciation. 
Hereafter, even through the lewd and unrestrained 
talk which was considered good manners in her 
day, it will be impossible not to recognize in her 
that lofty religious character, more and more mysti- 
cal as it advances, that faculty of enthusiasm and 
of sacrifice for her brother which breaks out at 
every decisive moment, and which is like the star 
of her existence." ^ 

The novel has laid hold of Marguerite's history, 
and instead of representing the Qneen of Navarre 
as she really wa,s, fantastic portraits have been 
drawn of her whose least defect is that of not resem- 



1 M. Sainte-Beuve, FraiK^ois /«'■, jioUe. 



112 MARGUERITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

bling their model. The Madrid captivity has been 
made the pretext for a host of more or less happy 
inventions. These fancies have had no result save 
that of substituting for the truth, which is more 
beautiful and striking than any falsehoods, be they 
what they may, conventional types which are never 
more than moderately interesting because they are 
not real. 

The historical novel has the great fault of ob- 
structing the memory with a mass of false notions 
which create in the mind a deplorable confusion. 
Each time that a souvenir recurs to the memory, 
one asks whether it is a fable or a reality. The 
novel and the history, contradicting each other 
every instant, end by mutual destruction, leaving 
in the memory a sort of spurious knowledge to 
which blank ignorance might be preferable. This 
factitious species will disappear, overcome by the 
analytical and patiently investigating methods which 
are now the order of the day, and which open inex- 
haustible treasures to modern erudition. We are 
convinced that every historical personage conscien- 
tiously studied necessarily fixes the attention, and 
that there is more interest, charm, and movement 
in reality than in the most skilful fictions. It is 
unnecessary to attribute to Marguerite, romantic 
adventures, to invent love affairs with the Conn^ta- 
ble de Bourbon, with Clement Marot, the poet, 
in order to give her originality and prominence. 
The Madrid negotiation, described in its simplicity, 



CONCLUSION 113 



interests me more vividly than all the incidents 
which could be invented at Avill to adorn this theme, 
and no romancer could image a scene more impres- 
sive than the Mass where the brother and sister 
shared the Sacred Host in the dungeon of the 
Alcazar. 

Marguerite's career, in spite of certain contradic- 
tions more apparent than real, presents itself, in fine, 
under conditions of harmonious unity and perfect 
moral beauty. Her life, beginning with all the 
illusions of hope to end in the austere meditations 
of mature years, is the history of a noble, delicate, 
and generous soul. No doubt religion and the 
profane element clash with each other in her destiny. 
Her eyes are by turns raised to heaven and lowered 
to earth. But perhaps this is but a charm the 
more. Is not the contrast between the love of the 
world and the love of God the very heart of poetry ? 
Every one who has both imagination and feeling 
has experienced the effects of these two sentiments, 
the strife between which is a grand spectacle, espe- 
cially when it is God who comes off conqueror, as 
in the soul of Marguerite. 

If I felt capable of drawing the moral portrait of 
the Queen of Navarre, I would choose the year 1531 
to describe its physiognomy. Her hour of sadness 
has arrived. Marguerite has endured tlie greatest 
grief which can smite a loving soul. She had just 
lost her mother. That trinity of affections whith 
united Louise of Savoy, her son, and her daughter. 



114 MAEGUERITE, SISTEB OF FRANCIS I. 

is now disrupted by death. The flowers have 
become less fair, the streams less limjDid, the fields 
less gay. Everything begins to fade. Fortune has 
no longer the same smiles for the King of France 
as on the day of Marignan. As a young girl, 
Marguerite had dreamed of pure joys, of enchanting 
views, and each year has stolen from her an illusion 
and a hope. She has found cruelty where she hoped 
for gentleness, unthankfulness where she expected 
gratitude, crime where she looked for virtue. She 
cannot contemplate without fear that Reformation 
which, after proclaiming itself under favorable colors, 
has so quickly become threatening to religion and 
to politics as well. A mind profoundly sagacious 
and investigating, she becomes increasingly sad 
as she understands better the plague spots which 
afflict French society. Her delicate nature is vividly 
impressed by them. The diversions of intelligence 
cannot soothe the sorrows of her heart. Ideas, 
however grand and lofty they may be, do not take 
the place of sentiments. Science, in spite of its pro- 
digious power, has never been able to satisfy a soul, 
and literature is a consolation only for those who 
are easily consoled. 

Marguerite can soothe her troubles for the moment 
by her writings, but sorrow is not slow to resume 
its rights, and after a passing radiance the shadows 
of melancholy grow longer, and overcloud her heart. 
After the death of her son, she resolves never to 
wear anything but black for the rest of her life. 



CONCLUSION 115 



She has never liked splendid stuffs, or robes of 
gold brocade. What other princesses devote to 
their dress, she spends on the poor. Renouncing 
all ideas of coquetry, she chooses the most simple 
garb. Her Bearnais hood, surrounding her forehead 
and the upper part of her face, scarcely allows one 
to see the hair beside her temples. The expression 
of her countenance is subtlety on a base of kindness. 
Marguerite employs the greater part of the day in 
good works. She visits the sick and the indigent, 
consoles them by Christian exhortations, and after 
leaving them sends them money or other assistance 
secretly, so that her left hand may not know what 
her right hand does. 

Having reached the summit of her spiritual and 
mental development, she enters that period of life 
which to ordinary women is dangerous, and to supe- 
rior ones a time of moral progress and of edification. 
To know how to grow old is still more meritorious 
than to know how to die. To renounce the suc- 
cesses of youth without unhappiness is for flattered 
beauties the greatest proof of strength of character. 
After having climbed the mountain to that summit 
where one must begin to go down, she looks backward 
with regfret to the road she has traversed, and f(^r- 
ward with anxiety to that which must yet l)c 
trodden. But there is •nothing severe or haughty 
in her sorrow. Instead of reproaching Providence, 
she filially bows her head beneath the hand of God 
which strikes her. She learns from suffering to be 



116 MARGUEBITE, SISTER OF FRANCIS I. 

better, more charitable, and how to compassionate 
more truly the woes of others. 

I see her in her little court of Beam surrounded 
by the veneration of her subjects. The royal virtues 
of kindness, generosity, clemency, devotion to the 
public good, shine in her with all their brilliancy. 
It is known that the most powerful princes, the 
Conn^table de Bourbon, Henry VIII., Charles V., 
himself, have thought of seeking her hand. Her 
renown has spread into every court of Europe. She 
is surrounded by a constellation of artists and lit- 
erary men who find in her a protectress and an 
example. No one approaches her without a respect- 
ful emotion. Instead of clinging by a taste for 
pleasure to her vanishing youth, she withdraws 
from, and gives up the world. She is not ignorant 
that the last effect of sensual pleasure is the physical 
remorse of fatigue, and the moral fatigue of remorse. 
She knows what bitter dregs are in the bottom of 
the cup of sensual joys, and her soul, athirst for 
noble emotions, seeks elsewhere her desired ideal. 
Contemplation of divine things alone affords repose 
to her imagination, mind, and heart. She has seen 
the world close at hand, she has shone in it more 
brilliantly than any woman of her time, and the 
world has neither charmed nor given her consolation. 
Hence the conclusion of her existence will be one 
of profound piety. Her latter years will be truly 
edifying, and in her retreat at the Abbey of Tusson 
she will be more honored than in the midst of her 



CONCLUSION 117 



court of great nobles, artists, and poets. Her repu- 
tation for science, wit, and intelligence will give 
all the more authority to her words and actions. 

Between the splendor of her rank and the humility 
, of her soul there is a contrast which renders her 
virtue all the more affecting. The woman who 
rates earthly grandeurs so justly is she Avho has 
known them best. She turns away her eyes from 
the crown and sceptre to look upon the crucifix. 
Sorrow, which embitters inferior souls, exalts great 
ones, and gives them real majesty. Marguerite's 
sadness, like her character, always retains somewhat 
of calmness and benignity. Religion and poetry 
unite to embellish even her griefs. As I think of 
the conclusion of a career so noble, a phrase of 
Madame Swetchine's recurs to my mind: "I com- 
mune with m5^self, O my God! at the end of my 
life, as at the close of a day, in order to bring Thee 
the thoughts of my faith and love. The last thought 
of a heart that loves Thee is like the last rays of the 
sun, more intense and more brilliant before they 
disappear. Thou hast willed, O my God! that life 
should be fair to its very end." 

To sum up, what is it in the Queen of Navarre 
that most attracts our sympathy? Is it the keen 
and perspicacious intelligence which makes sport of 
difficulties? Is it the science which, ever on the 
outlook for new information, devotes itself to the 
most serious studies ? Is it that political tact which 
transforms a woman into the rival of the most astute 



118 MARGUEBITE, SISTEB OF FRANCIS I. 

diplomatists? Is it the literary sentiment which 
makes of Marguerite not merely the enlightened 
protectress, the feminine Msecenas of men of letters, 
savants, and artists, but also the remarkable writer 
whose poetry and prose alike entitle her to an 
honorable place in the constellation of the sixteenth 
century? What moves us above all is none of the 
things we have just enumerated. Far rather is it 
that exquisite sensibility, that gift of tears, that 
suave melancholy, that benevolent, affectionate, 
wide sympathy for all the afflictions of humanity, 
that bounty toward the living, that cult for the 
dead, those noble attributes of a good and beautiful 
nature which cause Marguerite to appear to us only 
under the aspect of a comforter. 

BrantSme, who never mentions her but with 
veneration, tells the following anecdote about her: 
" The brother of the author of the Dames galantes, 
Captain Bourdeille, had known at the court of the 
Duchess of Ferrara, daughter of Louis XII., a 
Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle de La Roche, whom 
he had induced to love him; afterwards he brought 
her to the court of the Queen of Navarre, where 
she died. Three months later. Captain Bourdeille, 
being near Pau, went to pay his respects to Mar- 
guerite. The Queen met him just as she was 
coming out from Vespers, gave him a gracious 
reception, and led him, talking all the while, to 
the cemetery beside the church, which contained 
the tomb of her whom he had perhaps already 



CONCLUSION 11<» 



forgotten. 'Cousin,' she said to liim, 'do you not 
feel something stirring under your feet?' — 'No, 
Madame,' he answered. 'But pay good attention, 
Cousin,' she returned. 'Madame, I have paid good 
attention, but I feel no motion, for I am standiiiL'' 
on a solid stone.' — 'Then I must tell you,' said tlie 
Queen, not to keep him longer in suspense, 'that 
you are standing on the tomb and the body of poor 
Mademoiselle de La Roche, who is buried under- 
neath you, and whom you have loved so much; 
and since souls are still conscious after death, it 
cannot be doubted that this gentle creature, so 
lately dead, was agitated as soon as you were above 
her; and if you did not feel it, on account of the 
thickness of her tomb, do not doubt that she felt 
and knew it; and, seeing that it is a pious duty to 
remember the departed, and chiefly those whom one 
has loved, I beg you to say an Our Father, Hail 
Mary, and De Profundis for her, and sprinkle lier 
with holy-water; and so you will acquire the title 
of a very faithful lover and good Christian.' " 

BrantSme, ordinarily so light and superficial, is 
affected in relating this anecdote. Does it not sum 
up, in a fcAv words, all there was of tenderness and 
charity, ot poetry and the ideal, in that choice soul, 
the fulness of whose charm we have sought to com- 
prehend ? 



Second Part 



CATHERINE DE' MEDICI AND HER CONTEMPO- 
RARIES AT THE FRENCH COURT 




CATHERINE DE' MEDIC! 



CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 



INTRODUCTION 

AT no epoch in French history have women 
played a greater part than under the reigns 
of the later Valois. Their influence pervades poli- 
tics, letters, and the arts. They direct puhlic 
affairs, make and break treaties, share in every 
intrigue, hazard, and danger of the civil wars. The 
sovereigns are ruled by women: Francis I. by the 
Duchess d'Etampes, Henry II. by Diana of Poitiers, 
Francis II. by Mary Stuart, Charles IX. by Cath- 
erine de' Medici. Mingling in all the pleasures 
of the court, passionately fond of hunting, riding 
like intrepid amazons, assisting at tourneys and even 
duels, chiefly as the occasion of them, plunging 
headlong into the most audacious enterprises, the 
women throughout this dramatic and picturesque 
period, lead a brilliant, unquiet life, full of passions, 
adventures, and perils. 

What singular types! what varied figures! 'Tis 
Catherine de' Medici, the cold, astute, cunning 
Florentine, "an Etrurian woman," as a Venetian 

128 



124 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

ambassador said, "in whom the famous temporizer, 
Fabius, that great Roman, would have recognized 
his daughter." 'Tis Diana of Poitiers, the beautiful 
huntress, she whom Jean Goujon sculptured, nude 
and triumphant, embracing with marble arms a 
mysterious stag, enamoured like Leda's swan ; Diana 
of Poitiers, the wondrous woman, the woman of 
eternal youth, the elderly Alcina who, to charm a 
youthful Roger, has discovered the fountain of 
youth; Diana of Poitiers, whom Primaticio's frescos 
at Fontainebleau sometimes represent as the lumi- 
nous Queen of Night, and sometimes as a sombre 
Hecate surrounded by infernal fires. 'Tis Mary 
Stuart, the tragic heroine. 'Tis Marie Touchet, 
of whom Michelet has said : " Two things had power 
over Charles IX. ; music, and this calm Flemish 
woman." 'Tis Jeanne d'Albret, "a Queen in whom 
nothing was woman but her sex," as d'Aubign^ 
expresses it, "a soul wholly given to manly things, 
a mind capable of great affairs, a heart invincible 
by adversities." Jeanne d'Albret, who reared her 
son, the future Henry IV., "in rugged places, bare- 
headed and barefooted." 'Tis Marguerite de Valois, 
the famous Queen Margot, BrantOme's ideal, Mar- 
guerite de Valois, a marvel of grace and beauty, but 
also a finished model of libertinage of soul and 
body. 'Tis the Duchess de Montpensier, the frantic 
enemy of Henry III., the furious woman who pushes 
hatred even to frenzy, and who arms the hand of 
Jacques Clement. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 125 



In all the principal events of this age, so fertile 
in catastrophes, the women make their appearance 
on the scene. At Amboise, after the conspiracy, 
the court ladies witness the executions from the 
upper part of the castle terrace, "and thus give 
themselves a pastime precisely as if it were an 
affair of looking at a masquerade," without feeling 
an emotion of pity or compassion. ^ The only one of 
them who is troubled and melted into tears by the 
spectacle is the Duchess of Guise, the daughter of 
the Duke of Ferrara and Renee of France. At the 
siege of Rouen, Catherine de' Medici behaved like 
a warrior. "Cannon-balls and musket-shots rained 
about her, which she minded less than nothing. 
Still, there were women and girls in her company 
who did not like the sport, and when the Constable 
and M. de Guise remonstrated that some ill chance 
would befall her, she only laughed and asked why 
she should spare herself more than they did; that 
her courage was as good as theirs though not her 
strength, her sex forbidding that ; as for the fatigue, 
she bore it very well, both on foot and on horseback, 
keeping her seat with the best grace, and not appear- 
ing masculine in her strange riding-habit, but a 
pretty princess, fair, very agreeable, and mild."^ It 
is a marriage, that of Marguerite de Valois, which 
leads to St. Bartholomew's, the "red nuptials." It 
is a woman, Catherine de' Medici, who decided and 



Ilemoires, de la Planche. 2 Brantome, Dames lUustres. 



126 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

organized the massacre. On tlie clay of the Barri- 
cades, it is she who, beguiling the Duke de Guise 
with false negotiations, gives Henry III. time to 
escape. Some months later, the Duke leaves the 
arms of a woman, the Marquise de Noirmoutiers, to 
fall under the poniard of the forty-jive^ and appear 
before the tribunal of God; then, when Henry III. 
is assassinated in his turn, a woman, the Duchess 
de Montpensier, exclaims, in a delirium of joy and 
vengeance: "I am sorry for only one thing — that 
he did not know before dying that 'twas I who 
istruck the blow." 

The heroines of the sixteenth century like still 
better to be feared than to be loved. We recognize 
their power at every moment. We know that to 
gratify a sj)ite or heal a wound to their self-love, 
they do not recoil even from murder, and that in 
their view crime has a prestige and poetry of its 
own. " The Demoiselle de Chateauneuf, one of the 
king's favorites before he went to Poland, becoming 
enamoured of a Florentine and marrying, killed him 
like a man with her own hands on finding him a 
rake."^ These w^omen, voluptuous and cruel at the 
same time, inspired mad passions, insensate devo- 
tions, ecstatic admirations. D'Aubiac, who said of 
Marguerite de Valois, "I would like to have been 
loved by her, on penalty of being hanged not long- 
afterwards," d'Aubiac, going to his death, "instead 

1 3Iemoires, de I'Estoile. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 127 



of thinking of his soul and his salvation, kisses a 
blue velvet muff he retains from the favors of his 
lady." For these dangerous sirens, tliere are men 
who would deliver themselves up to ferocious beasts, 
who would plunge into the burning abysses of hell, 
without ruffling an eyebrow. Nothing is so much 
despised as life. Blood is shed like water. Even 
amidst the most frightful tragedies, and scenes of 
horror and carnage, the French character retains its 
gaiety, its carelessness, its liking for witticisms and 
chansons. The more precarious life becomes, the 
greater is the charm of gallantry. Balls alternate 
with massacres. Between two formidable tempests 
comes a clearing when the sky is blue, and spring 
smiles amid lilacs and roses. At this strange 
epoch, when elegance and barbarism unite, when 
the handles of stilettos are ornamented with real 
pearls, one listens in turn, and often simultaneously, 
to cries of fury and voluptuous melodies. Meyer- 
beer showed a just appreciation of this contrast, by 
making the savage tones of the benediction of pon- 
iards in the chorus of bathing women succeed the 
harmonious chants of Chenonceaux. Never has 
such another medley of material beauty and moral 
ugliness been seen. When vice, like Cleopatra's 
asp, is hidden in a basket of flowers ; when religion 
itself becomes the accomplice of voluptuous pleas- 
ure; Avhen the ceremonies of worship, instead of 
elevating and fortifying souls, are mere occasions 
for worldly pomp and extravagant luxury; when 



128 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

people are at the same time incredulous and super- 
stitious; when public opinion, instead of being the 
guide of conscience, renders unjust, odious, and 
cruel verdicts, the human heart, having no longer 
either rule or compass, drifts from passion to passion, 
from one reef to another. A singular confusion 
reigns in the minds of men. Law and morality 
being both eclipsed at once, bewildered souls end 
by losing even the notion of remorse. As M. Mdri- 
mee has so well observed in the preface to his pictur- 
esque Chronique du temps de Charles IX. : " What is 
crime in a state of perfect civilization is considered 
merely an audacious action in a state of civilization 
less advanced." 

How could virtues be found in a society where 
vice is not simply excuocd, but glorified; where 
fidelity in adultery is celebrated as the utmost 
height of the soul's grandeur; where in a jargon 
half chivalrous, half mystic, family disorders and 
social infamies are lauded to the skies ? Brant6me 
is the image of his times. He admires rakishness 
as much as courage. There is something naive 
and sincerely convinced in his respect for vice and 
elegant debauchery. According to him, virtue befits 
no women but those who are lowly born or ugly. 
As to beauties and great ladies, he recommends 
them to be inconstant in their love affairs, because 
" they should resemble the sun which sheds its light 
and heat on everybody in the world so well that 
everybody feels it." In this perverted centur}^ 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 120 



religion is so distorted, so badly understood, that 
it ceases to be a check and safeguard. The 
whimsical Christianity of Avhich the great lords 
and ladies then professed themselves adepts, bears 
no resemblance, great or small, to that of tlie 
Gospels; it is a sophisticated Christianity, which 
proscribes neither pride, hatred, luxury, nor the 
thirst for blood, and which transforms abominable 
crimes into acts of faith and meritorious works. 
The thought of death is only a contrast intended to 
enhance the charm of pleasure. From Christian 
pulpits preachers teach the spirit of vengeance and 
of cruelty. In their sermons they recoil neither from 
indecencies and buffooneries nor from appeals to 
popular excesses and the most savage passions. One 
might say that humanity, instead of kneeling before 
Christ, had mistaken the cross and was adoring the 
impenitent thief. 

The great moralist of the period, the profound 
thinker whose book is the breviary of statesmen and 
political women, the most admired of all writers, 
whose ideas on government are regarded as axioms, 
and followed to the letter, is Machiavelli. "In 
the actions of men, and especially of princes, wlio 
cannot be examined before tribunal, what is to be 
considered is the result. Let the prince then think 
of nothing but how to preserve his life and his 
dominions; if he succeeds, all means lie may have 
taken will be esteemed honorable, and huuknl by 
everybody. ... It is always good for the prince 



130 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



to appear clement, faithful, humane, religious, and 
sincere; it is so, likewise, to be all this in reality; 
but, at the same time, he should be sufficiently 
master of himself to be able, and to know how, if 
need be, to display the opposite qualities." Cath- 
erine de' Medici is a Machiavellian woman. The 
heroines bred in her school imitate the examples she 
gives them with docility. They reign by the defects, 
not the qualities, of their sex ; they have wit and no 
feeling, charms and no morality, vices and not 
virtues ; they deprave their minds and debase their 
characters. Their power, which is immense, is 
never exerted but for evil. More like devils than 
like angels, they persecute instead of consoling. 

These women whose influence has in it nothing 
that is delicate, suave, or pure, produce a decidedly 
unpleasant impression. Doubtless, they are still 
encircled by a trace of the chivalric spirit, vitiated, 
and corrupted, but still bold, and madly advent- 
urous. For these Armidas, these enchantresses who 
are more akin to the courtesan than to the great 
lady, the descendants of the knights of the Middle 
Ages, mock at death with a sort of frenzy. As- 
suredly these splendid women, sparkling with lux- 
ury, glowing with beauty, fascinate the eyes at once. 
One admires with Brantome Catherine's female 
squadron. " You should have seen forty or fifty 
dames or demoiselles following her, mounted on 
beautifully accoutred hackneys, their hats adorned 
with feathers which increased their charm, so well 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 131 



did the flying plumes represent the demand for love 
or war. Virgil, who undertook to describe tlie fine 
apparel of Queen Dido when she went hunting, has 
by no means equalled that of our Queen Avith her 
ladies." We repeat with Catherine de' Medici, 
apropos of Mary Stuart: "Our little Scottish Queen 
has only to smile to turn all Frenchmen's heads." 
At sight of Marguerite de Valois we confess 
with Ronsard that the beautiful goddess Aurora her- 
self is overcome, and at Blois, one Palm Sunday, 
when Brantome shows us the charming princess in 
the procession, her hair dressed and, as it were, 
starred with diamonds, in a shaggy robe of cloth- 
of-gold from Constantinople, whose weight would 
have crushed another woman, but which her large 
and ample figure supports so well, we also admire 
" her royal majesty, her grace half haughty and half 
gentle." 

But all this pomp, this brilliancy, cannot long 
beguile us. Beauty cannot dispense with virtue. 
The court festivities of the Valois no more conceal 
their depravities than the statues and artistic objects 
of Nero's Golden House conceal its shames. Vainly 
does vice adorn itself with splendid vestments. 
Vainly a fairy-like luxury spreads its marvels above 
the ignominies of a dishonored society. One thinks 
of Lady Macbeth: "All the perfumes of Arabia 
cannot sweeten this little hand." 

Nearly always the victims of their own passions, 
the heroines of the sixteenth century find within 



132 CATHEUINE DE' MEDICI 



themselves their €hastisement and torture. Pleas- 
ures how ffreat soever, emotions no matter how 
violent, do not shelter them from the evils of every 
sort which are inseparable from all existences which 
lack peace of heart. Dissatisfied with themselves, 
m spite of their efforts to stifle remorse, they dis- 
play, when one studies them at close quarters, an 
abyss of weaknesses and sufferings. In spite of 
hyperbolical praises and enthusiastic adulation, they 
end by being objects of contempt for their con- 
temporaries, as well as for history. Under these 
costly laces, these robes of velvet or cloth-of-gold, 
hearts are beating which harbor every torment, every 
anguish. And yet, here and there in the midst of 
this corrupt society, there are some truly sympathetic 
ypes. As in every epoch, exiled virtue finds an 
asylum in certain souls. Charles IX. says, in speak- 
ing of Elisabeth of Austria : " I can felicitate myself 
on having the wisest and most virtuous wife, not 
only in France or Europe, but in the whole world." 
The wife of Henry III., Louise de Vaudemont, is 
also a model of conjugal piety. The eye rests with 
pleasure on these tranquil countenances which have 
never been disturbed by evil passion. Such types 
but throw into greater prominence the violent 
wickedness of other women. And thus we find 
every shade of the feminine character, the noblest 
and purest, as well as that which is vilest and most 
depraved. 

Many recent works have shed new light upon this 



•f 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 133 



epoch. The old memoirs have been rejuvenated by 
substantial and interesting commentaries. Criti- 
cism has redoubled its zeal and skilful investigators 
have discovered riches hitherto unknown. We 
desire to profit by their researches, and give an 
account of their labors, by outlining the women of 
the sixteenth century according to the publications 
which have appeared in these latter times. We are 
persuaded that the more this difficult and dramatic 
period is studied, the more numerous will be found 
its fertile sources and inexhaustible mines, whether 
from the picturesque or the psychological point of 
view. Writers like M. Vitet and M. Mdrim^e, 
musicians like the immortal author of the Hwjue- 
nots, painters like Paul Delaroche, have proved that 
no period is better calculated to impress the imag- 
ination of an artist than this century whose tragic 
events would have been worthy to inspire a Shake- 
speare. The romancers have been less fortunate. 
Instead of imitating Walter Scott, who, in general, 
takes nothing from history but the framework and 
spirit of the period where his action passes, they 
have seized upon historical personages themselves, 
and have been unable to reproduce their actual 
physiognomy. 

Thus, to cite but one example, Catherine de' 
Medici has been so greatly disfigured as to make 
her, so to say, unrecognizable. The real Catherine 
does not resemble the ogress under whose linea- 
ments she has been represented by certain modern 



134 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

romancers. She has not that sinister glance, that 
deadly mien, that mysterious and savage aspect 
which one ascribes but too willingly to her who 
instigated the Saint Bartholomew massacre. By 
emphasizing the features, and overloading the tints, 
they have made a spectre, not a woman. Instead of 
a real type, they have painfully succeeded in creating 
a phantasmagoric personage. Catherine de' Medici 
such as she was, with her self-possession, her frigid 
'Cunning, her supreme elegance, her imperturbable 
tranquillity, has something striking in far other wise. 
It is its calmness, its moderation, which give this 
physiognomy an originality so great. This gentle- 
ness in crime, this- absence of anger in the most 
bloody tragedies, this politeness like that of an 
executioner for his victims, this Machiavellianism 
equal to every trial, which nothing alarms, nothing 
surprises, and which, with tranquil dexterity makes 
sport of every law of morality and humanity, this 
is the real character of Catherine. Nothing needs 
to be added to, or subtracted from, such types. The 
exaggerations are not merely detrimental to histori- 
cal studies, but are equally regrettable from the 
picturesque point of view, — art itself suffers from 
them as well as truth. "If you desire romance," 
M. Guizot has said, "why do you not turn to 
history?" 



II 

THE HISTORIANS OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

CATHERINE DE' MEDICI is the figure that 
dominates all others at the court of the Valois. 
We shall group the heroines of this epoch around 
her, and she will be the connecting link which binds 
them together in the rapid sketches we are about to 
attempt. We shall confront her witli the Duchess 
d'Etampes, Diane de Poitiers, Mary Stuart, Elisa- 
beth of Austria, Jeanne d'Albret, Louise de Vaude- 
mont;.and in every crisis, every drama of her time 
we shall encounter her action and her influence. 
The most contradictory judgments have been passed 
upon her. According to some, she was merely an 
intriguer without talent, ability, or breadth of view, 
living from hand to mouth, caught in her own 
snares, and with difficulty working out the schemes 
of a changeable and untoward policy. According 
to others, she brought to the service of a cause truly 
national, that of French unity, an intelligence, 
ability, and strength of character worthy of the 
greatest praise. Thus she is sometimes represented 
as the ruin, and again as the salvation of France; 
sometimes as a mischief-making demon, and some- 

135 



136 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

times as the precursory genius of Richelieu, and of 
Louis Quatorze. 

In the front rank of the authors disposed to 
belittle her, we must cite M. de Chateaubriand,^ 
who says in speaking of her: "If one follows all 
her proceedings, one perceives that in the whole 
vast realm of which she was the sovereign, she 
beheld only a larger Florence, the broils of her 
petty republic, the risings of one quarter of her 
native city against another, the quarrel between the 
Pazzi and the Medici in the struggle of the Guises 
and Chatillons." M. Michelet, who is fond of a 
sharply defined thesis, has gone much farther:^ he 
has even been unwilling to admit the importance 
of the famous Queen-Mother. "Our historians," 
says he, "have been so honest, or, to speak plainly, 
so innocent, that they have all taken Catherine de' 
Medici seriously. Not one of them has fathomed 
this nonentity." For him, the illustrious mother 
of three kings is but a stage queen, having merely 
the externals, the attire of royalty, and patiently 
accepting "that r61e of peace-making Queen who, in 
ceremonious interviews, thrones it with her lively 
court amid the loves and graces." M. Michelet 
admits that she had a taste for the arts, but in little 
things. "She remained," he says, "exactly on the 
level of the small Italian principalities." He denies 



1 Analyse raisonnee de Vllistoire de France. 

2 M. Michelet, Guerres de religion. 



AND HEB CONTEMPORAEIES 137 



her eveiything, even audacity in crime. He makes 
of her a more than prudent woman, very fearful for 
her children, who contrives everything, and is 
afraid of everything. She does not even succeed 
in arousing his anger. He judges her with cold 
disdain. Unwilling to find anything great in her, 
not even wickedness, he denies her "that profound 
dissimulation Avhich could have been making read}' for 
Saint Bartholomew's for so many 3^ears." "Never, 
he adds, "had she either the idea or the courage 
required for a revolt against facts. . . . Her ad- 
mirer Tavannes overrates her, I think, and exag- 
gerates in attributing to her the idea of Colign3^'s 
death. She consented to it, she granted it; but 
never without external pressure, or a great alarm, 
would she have dared such an action. She had no 
more heart than she had sense or temperament." 
It is as much as he can do to grant that "as a 
mother she pertained, however, to nature." But 
he takes pains to compare this maternal tenderness 
to that of an animal. "She was a female," he says, 
"and loved her young." 

M. Armand Baschet has protested vigorously 
against this verdict of the celebrated historian. 
"Desiring to be more than true," he has said to 
him, "you are worse than false. The infinitely 
little things you search for, la order to confirm 
your judgments, plunge you into an infinity of 
contradictions. To listen to you, one would think 
Catherine de' Medici knew not even the first word 



188 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

about politics. The one concession you make to 
her is that she loved the arts, and even then you 
add: 'in little things; she remained exactly on the 
level of the small Italian principalities.' You for- 
get that this level is that of Raphael, Urbino, 
Donatello, Michael Angelo, Cellini of Florence, 
Titian, and Paul Veronese of the state of Venice." 
M. Armand Baschet continues his refutation with 
real ardor: "Where do your contradictions lead 
you?" he exclaims. "You are even unwilling to 
admit that Catherine was capable of daring to com- 
mit that great political crime of the attack on the 
Admiral. But in that case, without meaning or 
intending to do so, you acquit her of the crime that 
has made her odious to the consciences of so many. 
Then why, in other pages, such animosity on your 
part against her power? If she was a nonentity, 
why discuss her, why even refuse to acknowledge 
her? One day you attack her as one attacks a 
great being; on another you completely forget that 
she directed all public affairs.. Her who was a 
working politician, you refuse to consider under 
any other aspect than that of a fine woman, a fine 
figure of a queen-mother. She must be considered 
otherwise."^ 

M. Armand Baschet, notwithstanding this bril- 
liant reply to M. Michelet's ideas, none the less 
recognizes all the evil sides of her character. Other 

1 M. Armand Baschet, La Diplomatie venitienne. 



AND HER CONTEMPOliAhlES 139 



writers, less restrained in their admiration, and 
perhaps led astray by their fondness for paradox, 
have celebrated Catherine with a sort of enthusiasm. 
Honore de Balzac, notably, has composed a Avork in 
her honor, which he describes as Etudes philoso- 
pJuques. In the eyes of the illustrious romancer, 
"the figure of Catherine de' Medici appears like 
that of a great king. The calumnies once dispelled 
by facts, recovered with difficulty from the falsities 
and contradictions of pamphlets and anecdotes, 
everything can be explained to the honor of this 
extraordinary woman, who had none of the weak- 
nesses of her sex, who lived chastely in the midst 
of the amours of the most licentious court of 
Europe, and who, in spite of her meagre purse, Avas 
able to build admirable monuments, as if to repair 
the losses occasioned by the demolitions of the 
Calvinists, who inflicted as many wounds on art as 
on the body politic." 

Nothing gives pause to Honor^ de Balzac in his 
admiration for his heroine, nothing, not even the 
massacre of Saint Bartholomew's. "Could one suc- 
ceed otherwise than by cunning?" he exclaims. 
" Any power, legitimate or illegitimate, must defend 
itself when it is attacked; but, singular thing, 
while the people are heroic in their victory over 
the nobility, power passes for an assassin in its 
duel with the people. Why, in our days, should 
we deny to the majestic adversary of the most 
barren of heresies, the grandeur she derives from 



140 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



this very struggle? The Calvinists have written 
much against the stratagem of Charles IX. But go 
through France: when you behold the ruins of so 
many beautiful churches that were destroyed, when 
you estimate the enormous wounds inflicted on the 
social body by the Protestant reformers, when you 
learn what retaliations they made, when you deplore 
the evils of individualism, you will ask yourself on 
which side the scoundrels were." 

As indulgent to legitimate as to morganatic queens, - 
M. Capefigue also undertakes the defence of Cath- 
erine, and the volume he devotes to her is a mere 
apology from beginning to end. Fascinated by the 
artistic tastes and the elegance of the Queen-Mother, 
he flatters her as assiduously as Brant5me does. 
He finds "that no one has ever raised to their true 
level the Valois, that choice family to which France 
owes its finest palaces, its masterpieces of art, 
chasing, painting, sculpture, printing, book-making, 
binding." He will not forgive either novelists or 
historians for representing Catherine "as a sort of 
Medea of the Renaissance, never appearing but with 
poniard in hand, and hiding poison in the flowers 
of her bouquet, the perfume of her gloves, or the 
ifblds of her Florentine robe." 

For his part, he makes of her a type of gentle- 
ness, conciliation, wisdom, and it is apropos of 
her that he says: "Those who have studied history 
in its larger aspects know what martyrdom is 
endured by governments inclined to temperance 



ANB HER CONTEMPORARIES 141 



and moderation ; nearly always they succumb under 
the labor, and once down, they are torn to pieces 
by all the petty-minded." 

We think the truth lies between the two extremes 
of these contradictory theses. Doubtless it is neces- 
sary to be on one's guard against the apologies 
which tend to disguise vice and change the mean- 
ing of words. It is Machiavelli himself who says: 
" One must not pretend that there is any merit in 
massacring one's fellow-citizens, in betraying one's 
friends, in being devoid of faith, i)iety, and religion ; 
by such means one may acquire power, but not 
glory. "1 Let us be as severe on the Saint Bartholo- 
mew as on the September massacres, and be no more 
indulgent to the crimes of kings than to the 
excesses of peoples. There is no theory more false 
and dangerous than the mania for rehabilitations, the 
predetermination to find attenuating circumstances, 
the love of paradox, the claim to say to history: 
" Adore what thou hast burned, and burn what thou 
hast adored!" Nothing is further from our inten- 
tion than a eulogy of Catherine de' Medici. But 
while affirming her faults, her vices, and even lier 
crimes, we do not wish to exaggerate them. We 
desire above all to display the society in tlie midst 
of which they were produced. Individuals cannot 
be understood but by getting at the foundations of 
societies, and the first requisite for justly estimating 



1 Machiavelli, The Prince, cli. viii. 



142 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



a historic figure is to have conscientiously studied 
its epoch both in the mass and in detail. Isolated 
from her contemporaries, Catherine de' Medici is a 
monster. Brought back within the circle of their 
passions and their morals, their prejudices and their 
theories, she becomes once more a woman. 

Rarely does one find a character which is all of one 
piece. Very few persons are absolutely good or 
absolutely bad. In general, the human creature is, 
as Montaigne has said so well, essentially versatile 
and various. In nearly all hearts there are bizarre 
contrasts, strange contradictions, which at first 
glance seem enigmas, and which cannot be under- 
stood unless one bears in mind the extreme varia- 
bility of the soul. The same sky is by turns tranquil 
and tempestuous, radiant and gloomy. The same 
person will be successively good and wicked, g^entle 
and ferocious, generous and stingy, believing and 
incredulous. Catherine de' Medici is a complex 
character such as occurs in civilizations that are at 
once elegant and brutal. She is not, at all moments 
of her life, a woman without heart and pity. No 
matter what is said about her, she is susceptible of 
maternal tenderness. She loves her children, and 
is devoted to their interests. She has a certain 
religion, but it is badly understood, ill-regulated. 
The sixteenth century, which understands the beau- 
tiful, understands neither the good nor the true. 
Catherine de' Medici is like her century. 

Do not demand from her, then, either greatness 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 143 



of soul, true moral force, or the virtues which are 
the poetry and the honor of woman. But recognize 
in her, will, intelligence, inflexible perseverance. 
Recollect the almost insurmountable difficulties of 
her task. Admit that it would have required an 
almost superhuman genius to stay, at such an epoch, 
the torrent of evil in its course, and to make an 
upright and honest policy successful at a time when 
the doctrines of The Prince were the model and 
ideal of statesmen. Catherine felt the influence of 
the corrujDtion of her times. Its vices are reflected 
in her. She was still more its victim than its 
inspiration. Place her in other surroundings, in 
our century, for example, and perhaps slie might 
always have been a good mother of a family, a calm 
and gentle woman, as she was in the earliest period 
of her life, before her lips had touched the bitter 
fruit of power. 

It must be admitted, Catherine did not inspire 
her contemporaries with that reprobation and horror 
which is the usual impression of the historians who 
have written her life. On the contrary, she usually 
awakened sympathy in those around her. A child, 
she excited pity by her misfortunes, and the most 
frenzied demagogues of Florence were unwilling to 
destroy this feeble scion of the IMedicean family. 
A young girl, she made lier appearance in France 
as a symbol of pacification. She brought to lier 
new country the alliance and the apostolic benedic- 
tion of her uncle, Clement VII. Never was any 



144 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

festivity more magnificent, more imposing, more 
agreeable to all France than that of her union, at 
Marseilles, with the future Henry II. The woman 
whose hands were afterwards to weave the Saint 
Bartholomew plot, had adopted a rainbow as her 
emblem, with the motto: "I bring light and seren- 
ity." On arriving at court, she at once pleased 
everybody by her grace, affability, her modest air, 
and, above all, by her extreme gentleness. She was 
the assiduous companion of her father-in-law, Fran- 
cis I., the amiable and intelligent alleviator of the 
fatigues of the blase and prematurely aged King. 

During the reign of Henry II. she wisely avoided 
every danger. Faithful to her wifely duties, she 
gave no cause for scandal, and, recognizing that 
she was not strong enough to overcome her all- 
powerful rival, she waited. At this time, the 
Venetian ambassador, Giovanni Capello, wrote of 
her: "The Queen is loved and respected, and 
deserves to be so by every one, for her personal 
qualities and her benevolence. The whole kingdom 
is of this opinion." When she became regent, she 
began by moderation. Taking the virtuous L'HSpi- 
tal as her adviser, she tried, as she wrote to the 
Bishop of Limoges, her ambassador in Spain, 
"to rehabilitate gently whatever the malice of the 
times might have deteriorated in the kingdom." 

Gentleness having failed, she tried to succeed by 
violence ; but if she committed cruelties it was not 
for the pleasure of being cruel. Machiavelli enjoins 



AND UER CONTEMFORALilES 145 



the prince, who wishes to rid himself of his enemies, 
to strike Avithout threatening, to extermincate with- 
out a lingering persecution. Catherine struck so 
quickly that she exterminated a party, as one kills 
a man, at one blow. Such were the maxims of 
the epoch. The sixteenth century had lost the 
notion of justice and injustice. Its moral sense 
was at fault. The principles of government, given 
vigor by Catherine, then passed for wisdom itself. 
No greater ability than that of cunning was known : 
divide to reign was the adage in vogue. Catherine 
did not create the vices of her time: but, if she is 
not their author, she is, we must admit, their com- 
plete personification. Why did she not inspire in 
her contemporaries the same repulsion as in pos- 
terity ? 

'Tis because she was identified with their ideas 
and their errors. Whatever their opinions or their 
party, they recognize themselves in her. 

Assuredly, when Brantome sounds the lyric 
trumpet to celebrate the graces and virtues of the 
Queen-Mother, when he speaks of her with an 
enthusiasm that amounts to tenderness, Brantome 
is in perfectly good faith. Hoav he admires not 
only the Queen-Mother but her squadron of maids- 
of-honor, "creatures more divine than human," who 
have "their free Avill to be religious of Venus as 
well as of Diana! " How he is enraptured by their 
charms when, in the solemn processions of Corpus 
Christi, Palm Sunday, and Candlemas, he points 



146 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



them out to us, carrying their palms or torches with 
such grace ! How he loves this court, " true paradise 
of the world, school of all honesty and virtue, 
ornament of France ! " 

How he venerates her, that sovereign "made by 
the hand of the great King Francis, who had 
introduced this fine and splendid revelry!" He 
represents her under the aspect of a good, amiable, 
attractive woman, with a ready laugh, a jovial 
disposition, and not afraid of a jest. He credits 
her with solid qualities, as well as agreeable ones. 

For him she is an intrepid female warrior, a 
"Queen Marphise," whose courage drives the for- 
eigners from Rouen. She is "a Semiramis, another 
Athalie," who "secures to her children in their 
reigns, several enterprises prepared for them in 
their minority with such prudence and industry that 
every one thinks her admirable." Over the accusa- 
tion of cruelty, Brant6me passes lightly. " She has 
been strongly accused," he says, "of the Paris 
Massacre. . . . There were three or four others 
who were more ardent than she, and who urged 
her greatly; making her believe that the threats 
people were uttering on account of the wounding 
of M. the Admiral would cause the killing of the 
King, and her children, and all the court." Far 
from seeing in her an evil genius, he always 
describes her as constantly laboring to extinguish 
the flames of civil war which she had not enkindled, 
"having a wholly noble heart, exactly like that of 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 147 



her great-uncle, Pope Leo, and the magnificent 
Seigneur Lorenzo de' Medici"; a good Christian, 
who never missed Mass or Vespers, " which she ren- 
dered as agreeable as they were devout, by means 
of the singers of her chapel." He extols her con- 
ciliatory sentiments, her grief "at seeing so many 
nobles and wealthy people perish," her wisdom, 
"her goodness," and it is with the accent of sincerity 
that he exclaims on two different occasions: "How 
unfortunate was the day on which this Queen 
died!" 

History has not yet said its last word about Cath- 
erine de' Medici. A writer, distinguished for his 
charming style, and the laborious patience of his 
investigations. Count Hector de La Ferriere, has 
for several years had in course of preparation the 
hitherto unpublished letters of Catherine. Thi^ 
voluminous correspondence, borrowed in great part 
from the archives of Saint Petersburg, should throw 
complete light on all the phases of one of the most 
troublous careers of which history makes mention. 
A collection of immense interest, la Diplomatie 
venitienne^ by M. Armand Baschet, has already 
opened previous sources of information on the same 
subject. The ambassadors of the Republic of 
Venice, those great masters of the art of observa- 
tion and description, have made portraits of Cath- 
erine which are masterpieces of resemblance. They 
have judged her calmly, without anger, and without 
enthusiasm, with no bias toward either indulgence 



148 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

or severity. They, who saw her daily, who talked 
with her continually, who were present at all her 
entertainments, and were charged to give an account 
of all her doings to their government, were able to 
know her better than others could. Their despatches 
go into the most circumstantial and precise details. 
These singular relations will aid us, better than 
any other documents, to explain the character of 
Catherine de' Medici, and to attempt to bring out 
its qualities and its defects. 



Ill 

THE CHILDHOOD OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

LITTLE was known of the childhood of Cathe- 
rine de' Medici. A learned diplomatist, M. 
Alfred de Reunion t, formerly Prussian IMinister 
plenipotentiary to Florence, has composed a work 
in German on this subject which has been translated 
into French^ by M. Armand Baschet, and whicli 
throws fresh light on the earliest j^ears of the 
famous Florentine. As M. de Reumont has very 
justly remarked in the preface to his book, Catherine 
de' Medici is a historical personage of too much 
importance not to awaken a thirst for information 
concerning the circumstances amidst which she 
grew up, and the persons who directed her educa- 
tion. "She was in the flower of her youth when 
she left Italy, but the family misfortunes which had 
saddened her cradle, the tempests unchained around 
the walls of the cloister where she found asylum, 
the character of her protectors, all exerted an influ- 
ence greater than might be believed over her moral 



i La Jeunesse de Catherine de Medicis, by A. de Reumont, trans- 
lated, annotated, and enlarged by Arin;iiul Basclict. 1 v(.l. : VUm. 

140 



150 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 



and intellectual faculties." Surrounded from in- 
fancy by snares and dangers, the lieiress of the 
Medici escaped as by a miracle. She early learned the 
art of temporizing, of reckoning with her enemies, 
of avoiding dangers by calmness and prudence. Her 
earliest memories brought back to her the clash of 
arms, the furious and revengeful shouts of popular 
insurrections. It was her destiny to live in the 
midst of tempests. The thunder rumbled over her 
cradle as it did above her tomb. 

Catherine de' Medici was born at Florence, April 
13, 1519, in that magnificent abode enriched by so 
many marvels of art. "The Medici," says M. 
Charles de Moiiy, "present themselves to history 
amidst the sacred group of the Renaissance. We 
see them erect and smiling among the architects, 
painters, and sculptors; their fine profile defines 
itself clearly amongst these august faces ; they have 
their place in this choir of demigods. Michelozzi 
and Brunelleschi dispute the honor of building 
them a palace ; in the courts and apartments of that 
dwelling, the most beautiful contemporary works 
charm the eyes of those great politicians, enamoured 
of pictures and vases, statues and manuscripts, of 
all modern elegances and all ancient souvenirs. 
The David and the Judith of Donatello, the Orpheus 
of Bandinelli, surmount fine columns; Greek mar- 
bles, which, have escaped the vicissitudes of events, 
display to dazzled eyes forms of incomparable 
beauty." 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 151 



Catherine was the great-granddaughter of tlie 
illustrious Lorenzo the Magnificent, the peacemaker, 
orator, artist, statesman, the Pensieroso of Michael 
Angelo. She was the great-niece of Pope Leo X., 
who, like Pericles and Augustus, was to give his 
name to his century. At once citizens and princes, 
the Medici, true kings in all but name, governed 
the Florentine Republic. Catherine's father, Lorenzo 
II., exercised almost absolute power. He had mar- 
ried a Frenchwoman of great famil}^ Madeline de 
La Tour d'Auvergne, born of Jean, Count of 
Bologne, and Catherine of Bourbon, daughter of 
the Count of VendSme. The marriage of Lorenzo, 
who bore the title of Duke of Urbino, was celebrated 
at Amboise, in 1518, amidst extraordinary pomp, 
Francis I., who presided at the festivities on this 
occasion, making it a point of honor to dazzle his 
guest. 

Ten days were entirely given up to banquets, 
balls, and tournaments. The wedding-feast was 
spread in the court of the castle, which liad been 
transformed into a tent, its walls hung witli 
splendid stuffs. After having received from the 
Most Christian King the ribbon of Saint Michael, 
a company of a hundred lancers, and the promises 
of unalterable friendship for his person and country, 
Lorenzo de' Medici returned to Florence with liis 
young wife. The married pair received a triumplial 
welcome. So much silk was employed for tlie 
entertainments given in their honor that the city 



152 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 



exhausted all its supplies and had to send for more 
to Venice and Lucca. This union, concluded under 
sucl brilliant auspices, was doomed to speedy inter- 
ruption by death. On April 13, 1519, the Duchess 
brought Catherine de' Medici into the world, and 
on the 28th of the same month she breathed her last 
sigh. Six days later, her husband, who had been 
attacked, some time before, by an incurable malady, 
followed her to the tomb. 

Catherine, at the age of twenty-two days, was 
orphaned of both father and mother. All the 
enemies of her family, whose sole legitimate repre- 
sentative was Pope Leo X., raged about her cradle 
like prophets of misfortune. Ariosto, affected by 
the destiny of this child, a little flower passed over 
by the tempest, composed at this time those touching 
verses which, by a graceful allegory, he places in 
the mouth of a woman personifying Florence, and 
looking at the frail scion of the house of Cosmo: — 

Verdeggia un ramo sol, con poca fogha, 
E fra tema o sp^ranza sto surpresa, 
Le lo mi lasci il verno o lo mi tagUa. 

" A single branch gi^ows green again with a little 
foliage; between fear and hope I remain uncertain 
whether winter will spare it or tear it from me." 
Leo X. extended his protection to Florence, which 
he considered as one of his dominions. He sent 
thither Cardinal Julius de' Medici (the future Pope 
Clement VII.), the natural son of a brother of 



AND HER CONTEMPOIiAlilES 153 



Lorenzo the Magnificent. When Cardinal Julius, 
who had governed Florence wisely, assumed the 
pontifical tiara, he entrusted the care of the Republic 
to a legate, Silvio Passerini, Cardinal of Cortona, 
.who supervised Catherine's education. 

She lived in Florence until the revolution of 1527 
broke out. Rome was taken by assault, and delivered 
up to pillage, by the troops of Constable Bourbon, 
on the 6th of May. This news, as soon as it was 
known, acted on men's minds Avith the speed of 
lightning. On learning that Pope Clement VII. 
was a prisoner in the castle of Saint Angelo, 
Florence seized the occasion to fling off the pon- 
tifical yoke. May 11, the whole city was in open 
revolt. Philij) Strozzi placed himself at the head 
of the insurrection. The Cardinal of Cortona, and 
the two 3^oung bastards of the elder branch of the 
Medici, Hippolyte and Alexander, were driven from 
the territory of the Republic. 

The popular party triumphed. In one of the 
sessions of the great council, Nicholas Capponi 
caused Christ to be proclaimed "perpetual King of 
Florence," and an inscription placed over the prin- 
cipal door of the public palace confirmed this nomi- 
nation. Dante de Castiglioni tore down the blazon 
of the Medici from the churches of Saint Laurence, 
Saint Mark, and Saint Gallo. The only legitimate 
representative of the elder branch of this illustrious 
family was little Catherine, who was barely eight 
years old. The younger branch, descended from a 



154 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

brother of Cosmo the Elder, and later the ancestors 
of the Grand-Dukes of Tuscany, had neither political 
position nor authority with the parties. The people 
were unwilling to transfer either to bastards or a 
woman the power of Cosmo or Lorenzo the Mag- 
nificent. Fearing the claims which might be put 
forward on behalf of Catherine, the democrats, 
instead of exiling her, kept her as a hostage and 
shut her up in cloisters which served the purpose of 
prisons. 

Here, then, we have Catherine in her ninth year, 
surrounded by snares and perils, amidst the relent- 
less enemies of her family. She is at first sent to 
the Dominican nuns of Saint Lucia, in the via 
San-Gallo. Then, on December 7, 1527, she is 
closely veiled and taken to the convent of the 
Santissima Annunziata delle Murate, Affable and 
gracious, the duehessina, as she is called by the 
Florentines, is beloved by the nuns. In this 
cloister, where all parties are represented, and each 
nun prays for her own, she is skilful enough 
to wound no one, and soon acquires the difficult 
art of living amidst discords. But now a terrible 
storm mutters over Florence. The Pope and the 
Emperor have come to terms; the pledge of their 
alliance is to be the ruin of the unhappy Republic. 
The treaty of Cambrai is signed. The King of 
France abandons his Italian allies. Charles V. 
withdraws his troops from various provinces of the 
peninsula in order to concentrate them on the 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES ir,5 



Florentine territory. He confides the task of reduc- 
ing Florence, and accomplishing the vengeance of 
Pope Clement VII., to one of his best generals, the 
Prince of Orange. The sombre presentiments of 
Michael Angelo are about to be realized. To look 
at the statue of the Pensieroso^ one would say that 
Lorenzo the Magnificent was beholding in the dis- 
tant future the calamities of his country. The fatal 
hour has struck. Clement VII. turns against his 
native city the same army which three years before 
had besieged him in the Castle Saint Angelo, and 
which had sacked Rome with such pitiless barbarity. 
The new Vandals hurl themselves upon their prey. 
Spite of its slender resources, Florence determines 
to struggle courageously. What is to become of 
Catherine during this terrible siege which was to 
last ten months ? Exasperated by famine, epidemics, 
and sufferings of every kind, there are demagogues 
who would like to avenge upon the innocent child 
the severities of her great-uncle, the Pope. "Put 
her in a brothel instead of a convent! " cries Leonard 
Bertolini. "That will spoil the Pope's fancy for 
marrying her to some prince or noble." 

Others of the arrabiati, as the enthusiastic demo- 
crats were called, proposed binding Catherine fast to 
the most exposed place on the ramparts, to find out 
what direction the balls of the troops of the Prince of 
Orange would take when faced by this scion of the 
house of Medici. It is learned, one day, that the 
duchessina, precocious heiress of the craftiness of 



156 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

her progenitors, has already a talent for making 
friends; that imprisoned partisans of her family 
have received in their dungeons mysterious baskets 
from this child, whose fruits and flowers conceal 
escutcheons embroidered with the arms of the pro- 
scribed race. At once it is resolved that Catherine 
shall remain no longer in the cloister of the Murate. 
Salvestro Aldobrandini is sent, with three commis- 
sioners, to withdraw her from this convent, and 
take her back to the Dominicanesses of Saint Lucia, 
who are supposed to be more favorable to the peo- 
ple's party, and who will guard the daughter of the 
Medici with greater rigor. Aldobrandini presents 
himself before the grating of the Murate cloister 
and makes a demand for Catherine. The nuns 
experience an indescribable emotion, for they believe 
that the poor child will leave her asylum only to 
go to her death. The abbess is refusing to sur- 
render her, when the child, dressed like a nun, 
appears before the commissioners of the Republic, 
and says sweetly : " Go, and tell my masters that I 
will become a nun and spend my whole life with 
these venerable mothers." Aldobrandini, affected 
by Catherine's grace, speaks to her respectfully. He 
tells her that it is only a question of putting her 
in a more secure place, the cloister of the Murate, 
situated but a few steps from the ramparts, being 
too much exposed to the attacks of the imperial 
troops. On their knees the nuns implore Heaven 
for the safety of the child, whom they are unwill- 



AND ITER CONTEMPORARIES 157 



ing to abandon. Alclobrandini dares not insist 
any further. He describes to the government 
the tears and supplications of the nuns. But the 
government is inflexible. It formally commands 
the abbess to submit, and, July 20, 1530, Catherine, 
after much weeping, bids adieu to her companions, 
and goes on mule-back to her former convent of 
Saint Lucia. 

She remained there until the end of the siege. 
The capitulation took place August 12. After ten 
months, the city, reduced to the last extremities, 
opened its gates. More than eight thousand citi- 
zens and fourteen thousand soldiers had perished. 
The Archbishop of Capua, Nicholas de Schonberg, 
was given the direction of affairs by the Pope until 
July 3, 1531, when Alexander de' Medici, Cathe- 
rine's natural brother, became the head of the 
Republic. 

Liberated on the day when the blockade ended, 
Catherine had returned to her dear convent of the 
Murate, where the nuns welcomed her with trans- 
ports of joy. She was afterwards summoned to 
Rome, by Clement VIL, and the sight of the 
Eternal City impressed the young imagination of 
the child, and aided to strengthen that taste for tlie 
arts which had already been awakened in her by the 
contemplation of the marvels of Florence. She was 
eleven years old when Antonio Suriano, Venetian 
ambassador to the court of Rome, foreseeing that 
this cherished niece of Clement VIL might yet have 



158 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

a great part to play, wrote concerning her: "This 
child has a very lively disposition and displays a 
charming wit. She owes her education to the care 
of the nuns of the Murate convent at Florence, 
women of great renown and of saintly life." Cath- 
erine never forgot the nuns who had surrounded 
her childhood with such affection, and at various 
times she gave them tokens of her gratitude. She 
was pleased also with Salvestro Aldobrandini, on 
account of the respect he had shown her at the 
time of his unpleasant mission, and this man, whose 
son was one day to wear the pontifical tiara as 
Clement VIII., owed his escape from the death to 
which he had at first been doomed to the intercession 
of the grateful child. 

The Pope thought at once of marrying his great- 
niece, and several offers were made him for the 
fanciulla^ as the Venetian ambassador, Antonio 
Suriano, styles her. Among other aspirants may be 
named the Duke of Milan, the Duke of Mantua, the 
King of Scotland, the Duke of Urbino. Clement 
VII., whose interest it then was to be on good 
terms with France, in order to protect himself 
against the exorbitant power of Charles V., rejected 
all these proposals and eagerly accepted the over- 
tures of Francis I., who asked Catherine's hand for 
his second son, Henry, Duke of Orleans. Very 
proud to see a Medici enter the royal family of 
France, Clement VII., disregarding the Emperor's 
attempts to prevent this alliance, wished it to be 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 159 



concluded without delay. The Duke of Orleans 
was only fourteen years of age, and Catherine but 
thirteen. But the Sovereign Pontiff was unwilling 
to wait any longer, and resolved to marry the couple 
himself at Marseilles. The idea that the descendant 
of Florentine bankers was about to approach the 
throne of Charlemagne overwhelmed the soul of 
Clement VII. with joy. 

Before leaving Italy, Catherine bade farewell to 
Florence by a splendid banquet to which all the 
illustrious ladies of the Republic were invited. She 
departed September 1, 1533. No doubt, on quitting 
her native city, which she was never more to see, 
she cast a lingering glance on that beautiful Medici 
palace where she was born, that brilliant abode 
which reminded her of so many glories and so many 
sufferings. 

First impressions are the most enduring. Tlie 
little Florentine was never to forget Italy. A bitter 
feeling against popular seditions abode with her. 
Convinced from earliest childhood of all the dreari- 
ness and danger attaching to high positions, she 
already understood that the art of governing is not 
easy. She had reflected, both in the Murate convent 
and beside the pontifical throne of Clement VII., 
on human vicissitudes and the irreparable griefs of 
power. It was to her father that Machiavelli liad 
dedicated his famous work. The Prince. She in- 
herited as a patrimony the political wisdom and 
astuteness of her ancestors. 



160 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

Fate reserved for her the spectacle of other 

struggles more bloody than those of the Medici and 

the Pazzi. The scene widened before her, but the 

policy of the Valois resembled that of the petty 

Italian principalities, and, on a larger stage, she 

found anew the same intrigues, the same passions, 

and the same crimes. An immense horizon unrolled 

before the duchessina. The Florentines, as they 

regretfully watched the departure of this young girl 

who had shared their misfortunes and whom all 

parties respected, had no inkling of the turns of 

fortune which awaited the heiress of Cosmo on 

French, soil. They cordially wished her a happy 

destiny, and were not without anxiety concerning 

the part she was to play in that famous court on 

which the eyes of all Europe were then fixed. Who 

could have foreseen that she would behold three of 

her sons ascend successively the throne of France, 

and that she would display all the resources of her 

Tuscan genius in conjunctures so terrible? The 

childhood of Catherine de' Medici had prepared her 

for the crises and storms of her career. The 

prologue was worthy of the drama. 



IV 



CATHERINE DE' MEDICI AT THE COURT OF 
FRANCIS I. 

THE city of Marseilles was in great joy on 
October 12, 1533. The signals of the tower 
of If and of Notre Dame de la Garde had just 
announced that the pontifical fleet was approaching, 
with Pope Clement VII. and his niece, the betrothed 
of the King's son, the young Catherine de' Medici, 
on board. The steeples of the Major responded to 
the municipal belfry on the Place de Linche in 
ringing welcome to the august voyagers. Numer- 
ous boats, containing a crowd of gentlemen and 
musicians, left the shore to go and meet them. 
Three hundred pieces of artillery rent the air witL 
their joyous salvos. The populace were on their 
knees. At the head of the fleet came the principal 
galley, which carried the Blessed Sacrament, accord- 
ing to the custom of the Popes when travelling by 
sea. Carpeted with crimson satin and covered witli 
a tent of cloth-of-gold, the vessel of Clement VII. 
was richly sculptured in the Venetian fasliion. Ten 
cardinals and a great number of bishops and prelates 
accompanied the successor of Saint Peter. 

IGi 



162 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

The solemn entry into the town was surrounded 
with extraordinary pomp. Throned on the sedia 
gestatoria, the Vicar of Jesus Christ was borne on 
the shoulders of robust men. Preceding him, on a 
white horse led by two equerries in sumptuous cos- 
tumes, was the Blessed Sacrament, in a magnificent 
ostensory. The crowd, receiving the Apostolic 
benediction piousl}^ rained flowers along the path 
of the procession; priests chanted canticles, and 
there rose a cloud of incense in the air. Vested 
in their purple, the cardinals, on horseback, fol- 
lowed the Pope by twos. Then, giving her hand to 
her uncle, John Stuart, Duke of Albany, and wear- 
ing a robe of gold brocade, came the fourteen-year- 
old Florentine, with her black eyes, her dull 
complexion, her gentle and intelligent expression,, 
Curiosity, so great already, would have been far- 
more excited, could the part this young girl waa 
called to play in the destinies of France have been 
foreseen. The next day, Francis I. attended by 
his court and all the foreign ambassadors, went as 
the Most Christian King, to pay homage to the Holy 
Father, For the Pope and the King, two palaces 
had been made ready, separated from each other only 
by a street, and united by a great wooden bridge, 
forming a vast hall hung with rich tapestries, and 
intended for the consistories as well as for the 
interviews between the two sovereigns. 

The Pope's attendants, bragging much about the 
advantages of the pontifical alliance, claimed that 



AND TIER CONTEMPORARIES 163 



Catherine would give to the house of France 
"three rings of inestimable price: Genoa, Milan, 
and Naples." Francis I. had never displayed more 
courtesy, or made a greater show of luxury. Tlie 
young Duke of Orleans testified a lively sympathy 
for his young betrothed, and all France participated 
in his joy. The marriage was celebrated October 
23, in the cathedral church, the Major, by the Pope, 
who said the Mass, and gave the nuptial riiig to 
the spouses. Catherine wore a robe of white silk 
enriched with precious stones and ornaments of 
Florentine wrought gold. Her head was covered 
by a veil of Brussels point. She looked like the 
Italian Madonnas in their glittering frames. The 
Pope and the King did not separate until November 
27, when His Holiness went on board of the pon- 
tifical galley, and Francis I. took the road to Avi- 
gnon, whence he was to return to Fontainebleau. 

This residence, which Catherine occupied, had 
never been more gorgeous. At the age of thirty- 
nine, Francis I. retained all the tastes of his early 
youth, and his court was not a school of morality. 
Brant5me describes him as inciting "his worthy 
gentlemen to have mistresses under penalty of 
being regarded by him as dolts or blockheads, and 
promising them his good offices with such as were 
inhuman ; he was not contented with merely seeing 
them follow his example; he wanted to be their 
confidant. Often, too, when he saw them in great 
discussions with their mistresses, he would accost 



164 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

them, asking what good things they had said, and, 
if he did not think them good, would correct them 
and teach them others." It was not merely in 
matters of gallantry that Francis I. might be 
esteemed a master. A Venetian ambassador, Ma- 
rino Cavalli, wrote concerning him: "This Prince 
has very good judgment and great knowledge: 
listening to him, one recognizes that there is neither 
study nor art which he cannot discuss with much 
pertinence, and criticise in a manner as positive as 
those who have specially devoted themselves to it. 
His acquirements are not limited to war, the manner 
of provisioning and commanding an army, arranging 
a plan of battle, preparing quarters, assaulting or 
defending a town, directing artillery; he not only 
understands all that appertains to maritime warfare, 
but he has great experience in hunting, painting, 
literature, the languages, and the different exercises 
befittinp" a handsome and brilliant chevalier. " Cath- 

o 

erine understood at once how much was to be gained 
in the society of this learned, amiable, and powerful 
King. She wished to become his pupil, and seeking 
every occasion to follow and ply him with homage, 
she set to work to become an assiduous companion, 
a sort of maid-of -honor to him. 

Francis I. had a passion for the chase. Cathe- 
rine became a great huntress. "She prayed the 
King, ' ' says BrantSme, " to permit her to be always 
at his side. They say that, being subtle and crafty, 
she did this as much or more for the sake of watch- 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 165 



ing the King's actions, extracting his secrets, and 
listening to and knowing everything, as for the 
sake of hunting." After this reflection, Brant6me 
adds: "King Francis was so pleased with such a 
prayer, and her ready fondness for his compan}^ that 
he granted it very cordially, and besides his natural 
affection for her, his liking continually grew, and 
he delighted in giving her pleasure at the hunt, 
where she never quitted the King, but always fol- 
lowed him at full speed; she rode well and was 
daring, and had a very graceful seat, being the first 
one who threw her leg over the saddle bow, inso- 
much that her grace was even more striking and 
apparent there than on a floor." Catherine followed 
from city to city, from castle to castle, this monarch 
whose custom it was to change his abode incessantly. 
Marin Giustinian, Venetian ambassador to France 
from 1532 to 1535, says concerning this: "Never, 
during my embassy, did the court remain in tlie 
same place for more than fifteen consecutive days." 
Agreeable by the quickness of her intellect, as well 
as her evenness of temper, the young Plorentine 
sought to make friends, not merely of the King 
and the Princes, but of all who approached her 
She lived on good terms with "the little band of 
court ladies," as Brantome says, "ladies of family, 
damsels of reputation," whom Francis I. assidu- 
ously sought for among ''the most beautiful and 
most noble," and who appeared "in the court like 
goddesses from heaven." 



166 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

Catherine needed all her address and prudence 
to avoid the snares alread}^ laid for her. Aristo- 
cratic prejudices were enlisted against her. The 
French nohles did not think the escutcheon of the 
Medici sufficiently gilded by the pontifical tiara of 
Leo X. and Clement VII. They said it was, after 
all, but a family of merchants, and that even with 
the best will in the world the marriage of the Duke 
of Orleans could not be considered other than a 
mesalliance. It was claimed, also, that the Pope 
had not kept his promises very well, and had in 
fact been of no advantage. Two years after the 
marriage, the Venetian ambassador, Giustinian, 
wrote: "M. d' Orleans is married to Madame Cath- 
erine de' Medici, which dissatisfies the entire 
nation. It is thought that Pope Clement deceived 
the King in this alliance. However, his niece is 
very submissive. The King, the Dauphin, her 
husband, and also the King's youngest son, seem 
to love her much." Besides, Catherine, who had 
only married the King's second son, did not at this 
time seem destined to play an important political 
r61e. The sole ambition which she and her husband 
could hope to realize was that, when the war 
between Charles V. and France was over, they 
might receive the investiture of the Duchy of Milan 
or that of Urbinp. 

An unexpected event abruptly changed this situa- 
tion. The Dauphin, who had followed the King to 
the war of Provence, died suddenly at Tournon, 



AND UER CONTEMPORARIES 107 



July 15, 1536. The Duke of Orleans became the 
heir to the throne, and assumed the title of Dauphin. 
He was eighteen years old, and Catherine seventeen. 
The position of the new Dauphiness was becoming 
very difficult. Though she had been married for 
three years, she had no children, and people said she 
never could have any. A beautiful and imperious 
woman, accustomed to power, Diana of Poitiers, 
had subjugated the heart of Catherine's husband, 
and Catherine, with rare penetration, saw at once 
that it would be impossible to contend with her. 
And yet Diana of Poitiers, born in 1199, was 
twenty-three years older than the Dauphiness. But 
she was an enchantress, an Armida, a woman full 
of seduction and prestige, whose charm was like 
a talisman to bewitch the feeble Henry. A great 
fund of timidity underlay the character of this 
young Prince. His childhood had passed very 
sadly. Sent to Spain with his brother, in 1526, 
as a hostage for the fulfilment of the treaty of 
Madrid, he had spent four years there at Valladolid, 
in a convent of monks, where he endured a real 
captivity. When he returned to his father's court, 
he had been obliged to relearn his own language. 
Lacking confidence in himself, humble and silent 
in the presence of the King, he thought he needed 
a protectress, an Egeria. He had caught a glimpse 
of the beautiful widow of the Seneschal of Normandy, 
Diana of Poitiers, Countess of Brdze, wlio "dressed 
prettily and pompously," says Brantome, ''but all 



168 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

in black and white." Diana was a real marvel at 
this period. She was Henry's first, or rather, his 
only, real passion. A child, he dared not imagine 
that a day wonld come when he might lift his eyes 
to this idol. The woman who feigned hypocritical 
tears for her deceased husband seemed to him a 
model of goodness and virtue. Diana, like a 
knowing coquette, saw at once what she could 
make of the na'ive and tender soul of the ecstatic 
youth. She inspired him with one of those pas- 
sions, platonic to begin with, sensual later on, 
which seizing hold on all the faculties of a man, 
dominate alike his mind, his imagination, and his 
heart. Beginning by giving her young admirer 
only a faint glimmer of hope, she pretended to 
permit herself to be loved, but only, as is commonly 
said, in all honor and virtue. Even the court was 
for some time deceived by this comedy. The 
Venetian ambassador, Marino Cavalli, wrote con- 
cerning the Dauphin : " He is not much addicted to 
women. His own suffices him. For conversation, 
he confines himself to that of Madame, the Seneschale 
of Normandy. He has a real tenderness for her, but 
people believe there is nothing lascivious in it, and 
that it is an affection like that between mother and 
son. They say that this lady has undertaken to 
instruct, correct, and counsel M. the Dauphin, and 
to urge him on to all worthy actions." People very 
soon found out what to think of this so-called ma- 
ternal affection. Although nineteen years younger 



AND HEB CONTEMPORARIES 1^9 



than his idol, the young Prince had a love for her 
which was anything rather than filial. She was not 
long in becoming his recognized mistress. In 1541, 
at a fete given in the wood of Berlaudiere, near 
Ch^tellerault, under the designation of a tourna- 
ment of knights errant, he publicly wore the Sene- 
schale's colors, and thereafter never quitted her. 

During the last years of the reign of Francis I., 
a feminine duel raged between the two favorites, 
the Duchess d'Etampes, mistress of the King, and 
Diana of Poitiers, mistress of the Dauphin. The 
court was divided into two camps, and the King, 
instead of putting a stop to the quarrels, disputes, 
and intrigues, took a certain pleasure in them. It 
was a war of slanders, calumnies, and epigrams. 
Very proud of being ten years younger than lier 
rival, the Duchess who, according to her flatterers, 
was the most learned of beauties and the most 
beautiful of learned women, triumphed insolently, 
and wanted to see the wliole court at her feet. 
Queen Eleanor, the sister of Cliarles V., a gentle, 
modest woman, kept herself apart, and sought con- 
solation in piety and in reading, of which slie was 
passionately fond. The Duchess d'Etami)es liad 
all power in her hands. The Emperor was well 
aware of this. When he was in France, the King 
had said to him, pointing to liis favorite: " Brother, 
there is a beautiful lady who thinks I ought not 
to let you depart until you revoke the treaty of 
Madrid," and he contented himself with answering 



170 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

coldly: "If the advice is good, you must follow it." 
But the same day at dinner he let a diamond of 
great value drop before the Duchess, Avho was giving 
him his napkin, and refused to take it back, saying : 
"Madame, it is in too fair hands." 

The wily monarch knew how to make an ally of 
his rival's mistress. She became the head of the 
party which desired to base French policy on an 
agreement with the Emperor. Diana supported the 
contrary opinion, and the struggle between the two 
women attained the proportions of a great affair of 
state. Poets and artists took part in this rivalry of 
women which occupied the court more than that 
between Francis I. and Charles V. While Prima- 
ticio endlessly reproduced the features of the Duchess 
d'Etamj)es in the decorations of the royal galleries, 
Benvenuto Cellini chose as his model Diana of 
Poitiers, the beautiful huntress, and in his Memoirs 
the famous engraver has detailed in the most 
picturesque fashion his quarrels with the King's 
mistress and Primaticio. The poets enlisted on the 
side of the Duchess d'Etampes celebrate her as a 
resplendent, unparalleled beauty, and were one to 
judge by their French and Latin epigrams, the 
Seneschale was nothing but a toothless, hairless, 
old woman, who owed her remnant of deceptive 
brilliancy to paint. 

A less intelligent woman than Catherine would 
have ranged herself openly on the side of the 
Duchess, and tried to form a league, a coalition. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 171 



with the powerful favorite, for an attack on the 
Seneschale. But this bold stroke would not have 
been in keeping with the temporizing genius of 
the Florentine. She understood that in declaring 
against Diana she would run a risk of being repudi- 
ated, and instead of clashing with a force which 
was now irresistible, she employed all her skill in 
remaining on equally good terms with both the 
favorites, irreconcilable enemies though they were. 
Thus the woman, who was thereafter to occupy so 
great a place, now sought only to efface herself; 
she seemed a real model of simplicity and reserve. 
Francis I., to whom she had never occasioned 
any vexation, was astonished and enraptured. He 
attributed her precocious wisdom to his instructions, 
and was both pleased and flattered by it. As to 
the Dauphin, in spite of the lack of warmth in 
his affection for his wife, he could not avoid doing 
justice to her physical and moral qualities. 

"She was," says Brantome, "of a fine and ample 
figure, very majestic, always very gentle when 
necessary, beautiful and gracious in appearance, her 
face fair and agreeable, her throat very beautiful, 
white, and full, very white in body likewise. . . . 
Moreover, she dressed well and superbly, always 
having some new and pretty invention. In brief, 
she had beauties fitted to inspire love. She laughed 
readily, her disposition was jovial, and she liked to 
jest." The artistic elegance that surrounded her 
whole person, the tranquil and benevolent expres- 



172 CATHERINE BE' MEDIC I 

sion of her countenance, the good, taste of her dress, 
the exquisite distinction of her manners, all con- 
tributed to her charm. And then she was so 
humble in presence of her husband! She so care- 
fully avoided whatever might have the semblance 
of a reproach! She closed her eyes with such 
complaisance ! Henry told himself that it would be 
very difficult to find another woman so well disposed, 
another wife so faithful to her duties, another prin- 
cess so accomplished in point of instruction and 
intelligence. The menage d trois continued there- 
fore, and if the Dauphin loved his mistress he 
certainly had a friendship for his wife. And, on her 
part, whenever she felt an inclination to complain 
of her lot, Catherine bethought herself that if she 
quitted her position she would probably find no 
refuge but the cloister, and that, taking it all round, 
the court of France, in spite of the humiliations 
and vexations one might experience there, was an 
abode less disagreeable than a convent. 

At the end of nine years of marriage, she had still 
no children, and was constantly troubled by fear of a 
divorce. "It is unknown," says Varillas,^ "whether 
Francis I. had been deterred from such a step by 
its visible injustice, the oaths by Avhich Clement 
VII. had bound him never to send away this Princess 
who was his niece, or the pity inspired by Catherine, 
whose condition was then so deplorable that no place 

1 Varillas, Histoire de Henry Second. 



AND HER COXTEMPORARIES 173 



of refuge would have been open to her, the new- 
Duke of Florence being too politic to receive her in 
his dominions where her rights exceeded his; or, 
finally, by the address of Catherine herself, wlio 
spaied no pains to preserve the rank her uncle had 
acquired for her." The account given by tlie 
Venetian ambassador, Lorenzo Contarini, explains 
how prudently Catherine averted the dangers im- 
pending over her : " She went to the King and told 
him she had heard it was His Majesty's intention 
to give his son another wife, and as it had not 
yet pleased God to bestow on her the grace of 
having children, it was proper that, as soon as His 
Majesty found it disagreeable to wait longer, he 
should provide for the succession to so great a 
throne; that, for her part, considering the great 
obligations she was under to His Majesty, who had 
deigned to accept her as a daughter-in-law, she was 
much more disposed to endure this affliction than to 
oppose his will, and Avas determined either to enter 
a convent or remain in his service and his favor. 
This communication she made to King Francis I., 
with many tears and much emotion. The noble and 
indulgent heart of the King was so greatly moved 
by it that he replied: 'Daughter, do not fear that, 
since God has willed you to be my daughter-in-law, 
I would have it otherwise; perhaps it will yet 
please Him to grant to you and to me, the grace 
we desire more than anything else in the world. 
Not long afterwards she became pregnant, and in 



174 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

the year 1543 she brought a male infant into the 
world to the great satisfaction of everybody." 

Not long before, a Venetian ambassador, Matteo 
Dandolo, had written concerning Catherine: "Her 
Majesty is so much liked by both the court and the 
people, that I think there is no one who would 
not shed some of his blood to procure her a son." 
She was as fruitful in the later years of her marriage 
as she had at first been sterile. Between 1543 and 
1555 she had ten children. As soon as she became 
a mother she felt reassured. Her fear of divorce 
departed, and the wily Princess inwardly congratu- 
lated herself on the prudence which had extricated 
her from a difficult situation. Much younger than 
Diana of Poitiers, she waited for time to put her 
in the right and brilliantly avenge her. The 
astrologers, who were her counsellors, had promised 
her domination. Relying on their words, she 
waited. An interior voice said to her: "Thou 
shalt govern ! " She did not doubt it for an instant, 
and each day brought her nearer to her goal. To 
her might be applied the famous saying : Genius is 
a long patience. 





DIANE DE POITIERS 



V 

DIANA OF POITIERS 

WITH Henry II. 's accession to the throne 
begins the definitive triumph of Diana of 
Poitiers. At the age of forty-eight, the all-powerful 
mistress enslaves a King who is twenty years her 
junior. The huntress utters a cry of joy; this is 
the time for spoils. The King loads Diana's tools 
with wealth and favors, and, on the recommendation 
of the favorite, who seizes all the avenues of power, 
he aggrandizes the house of Guise beyond measure. 
This numerous family, established in France but a 
few years only, acts as one man, and conceives the 
project of setting aside all the princes of the blood. 
Posing as the heir of Charlemagne, it reclaims, in 
an underhanded way, its more or less chimerical 
rights over Anjou, Provence, the Two Sicilies, and 
Jerusalem. The six sons of Duke Claude de Guise 
aspire to all the great offices of the kingdom. The 
third son, Claude, Marquis of Mayence, is Diana's 
son-in-law. He claims for himself and his mother- 
in-law all vacant estates in France. 

The Archbishop of Rheims, Cliarlcs de Guise, 
brother to Diana's son-in-law, is the assiduous 

175 



176 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

courtier of the favorite. In his diocese, this Arch- 
bishop of twenty-three plays the saintly bishop and 
father of the Church; at court he is the flatterer 
of the King's mistress, and his intrigues promptly 
gain him a cardinal's hat. Created Duchess of 
Yalentinois, Diana disposes of ecclesiastical bene- 
fices, makes one of her trusty adherents keeper of 
the royal treasury, in order to have " the key of the 
coffer," and monopolizes wealth, lands, and precious 
stones with insatiable avidity. Henry II. bestows 
on her all the taxes levied at the accession of a 
new king on the holders of purchasable offices, 
corporation immunities, and other privileges. At 
the coronation she has a place of honor, and in the 
account of the ceremony she is treated as a real 
sovereign of the left hand. 

Et celle-la qui, en la cour royale 
Est en faveur, la grande seneschale, 
Doit-elle pas ici le rang tenir 
Oil par vertii on la volt parvenir ? ^ 

The Duchess d'Etampes, vanquished and humil- 
iated, vanishes from the scene. She is obliged to 
restore the jewels she received from the deceased 
King, and relegated to her estates, she drags out 
a monotonous existence. Her husband, Jean de 

1 And she who, in the royal court — Is in favor, the great sen- 
eschale — Should she not hold the place here — Which by virtue 
she is seen to have attained ? — Le Sacre et Cou^^onnement du tres- 
puissant et tres-chretien Boy Henry, deuxieme du nom. Paris, 
Andre Kuffet, 1549. 



AND HER CONTEMPOBARIES 177 



Brosse, the complaisant spouse who had so greatly 
profited by his wife's adultery, brings a shameful 
action against her. He sues her for the salary of 
the government of Brittany, to which he had held 
the title for some j^ears while she had drawn the 
revenues. Henry II. was not ashamed to meddle in 
such an affair in order to serve Diana's vengeance. 
He appeared at the inquiry and made his deposition. 
Her contemporaries, astonished at the victorious 
prestige of the aged mistress, credited her with some 
magic power, some enchanted ring. "We are not 
in a natural world. This is an enchantment, and 
it can only be carried out by violent spells and 
dramatic strokes. The Armida of fifty years who 
holds a king of thirty in lease, must daily use her 
magic wand. Inebriated with fanfares, prophet ii; 
emblems, and the dream of conquering the world, 
he makes with closed eyes the decisive actions 
whereby the idol signifies his divinity."^ In 
thickets of myrtle and roses, amidst statues, foun- 
tains, and gushing springs, in the deptlis of dark 
and game-abounding forests, the King leads an 
enchanted existence. Fondly persuaded that he is a 
hero, a model, because he is the most luimble servant 
of the woman of his thoughts, he treats adultery as a 
sacred thing, a duty. Fidelity to his aged mistress 
is the ideal of this brain, crazed by the romances of 
chivalry and the ritual of amorous mysticism which 



1 Michelet. Gncrvoa Or irl it/ion. 



178 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

is the fashion of the day. Henry would consider it 
a crime to return to the right path. Having reached 
the culminating point of a false conscience, he has 
succeeded in deluding himself if not others. *'I 
supplicate you," he writes to Diana, "to remember 
him who has never known but one God and one 
love, and be certain that you will never have cause 
to be ashamed of having gfven me the name of 
servitor, which I entreat you to preserve for me 
forever." The Amadis Espagnol is the chivalric 
Bible of the new reign. As M. Michelet says 
again: "To the sun of Francis I. succeeds another 
star, the moon, romantic, equivocal, of doubtful 
lustre." 

Burning scaffolds shed their horrible glow over 
all this phantasmagoria. June 10, 1549, Henry II. 
causes Catherine de' Medici to be crowned at Saint 
Denis. A few days later, his ceremonious entry 
into Paris takes place. June 23 begins a series of 
tournaments which last fifteen days. A naval 
combat on the Seine follows the tilting; thirty-two 
galleys amuse the court with these new games. 
The festivities end with a religious procession from 
the church of Saint Paul to that of Notre-Dame, where 
the voluptuous monarch, honestly imagining that 
cruelty will atone for adultery, renews his vow to 
pursue and extirpate heresy. After Mass he dines 
in public at the bishopric, and after dinner places 
himself at one of the windows of the Tournelles 
Palace to see the execution of four wretches con- 



AND HER CON TEMPOTt ARIES 170 



victed of Lntheranism. Amoncr them is a man 
whom the King knew, his tailor, his "seamster," 
as was said in those days. Accompanied by Diana 
of Poitiers and the Bishop of Macon, Henry II. liad 
chosen to interrogate the man of the people for the 
sake of enjoying his timidity and embarrassment. 
Hubert Burre was not dismayed. He refuted the 
sovereign's arguments, then the. bishop's, and when 
the favorite ventured to speak, " Madame," exclaimed 
the poor artisan, "content yourself with having 
infected France, and do not mingle your filth Avith 
anything so sacred as the truth of God!" On the 
scaffold the seamster recognizes the King, and while 
the executioners are putting him to the horrible 
torture of slow fire, he casts on the monarch a look 
of so much suffering and so much courage that 
Henry II. is troubled, and turns pale. 

Pleasure dispels remorse. To the image of the 
tailor in the flames, an avenging image which long 
haunts the King, succeeds that of Diana the huntress, 
the crescent on her forehead, the golden quiver on 
her shoulder, the silver bow in her hands. The 
marvellous Castle of Anet is the temple of his idol. 
A veritable veil of stone lace envelops this fairy-like 
abode. On the azure and gold of the pillars amorous 
devices are engraved. Strange spectacle! Diana 
will not srrow old, and she does not. What is her 
secret? M. Michelet reveals it. "To be affected 
by nothing, to love nothing, to sympathize witli 
nothing. Of the passions to keep only what will 



180 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

give a little rapidity to the bloocl, of the pleasures, 
those that are mild and without violence, the love 
of gain and the pursuit of money. Hence, absence 
of soul. On the other hand, the cultivation of the 
body. The body and its beauty uniquely cared for, 
not Aveakly adored as by the majority of women, who 
kill themselves by their excessive self-love, but by 
a virile treatment, a frigid regime which is the 
guardian of life." 

At all seasons of the year Diana plunges into a 
cold bath on rising. As soon as day breaks, she 
mounts a horse, and, followed by swift hounds, she 
rides through dewy verdure to her royal lover, 
to whom, fascinated by her mythologic pomp, she 
seems no more a woman, but a goddess. Thus he 
styles her in verses of burning tenderness : — 

" Helas ! mon Dieu ! combien je regrette 
Le temps que j'ai perdu en ma jeunesse ! 
Combien de fois je me suis souhaite 
Avoir Diane pour ma seule maitresse. 
Mais je craignais qu'elle, qui est deesse, 
Ne se voultit abaisser jusque-la." ^ 

Diana, at the height of favor, tolerated Catherine 
de' Medici, and Catherine took good care not to 
contend with her. "When Henry came to the 
crown, the Seneschale, informed by the King himself 

^ Alas ! my God ! how much I regret — The thne I lost in my 
youth ! — How many times have I desired — To have Diana for 
my only mistress. — But I feared that she, who is a goddess, — 
Would not stoop so low as that. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 181 

that the Queen had never sought to lower her in 
his esteem, preferred to have her in the place she 
occupied rather than another who Avould not be so 
patient, and, consequently, she never took any pains 
to thwart her. Catherine, on her part, contented 
with being Queen, and with the fecundity which 
Fernel, the chief physician, had, under God, pro- 
cured for her, confined herself to the care of bringing 
up her children, and, abandoning all else, she left 
almost entire possession of the new King to the 
Seneschale."^ This menage a trois has been de- 
scribed in the most painstaking way by a writer 
whose patient researches have cast full light on the 
figure of Diana, M. Georges Guiffret.^ He shows 
us the mistress constituting herself the protectress 
of the legitimate wife, monopolizing the cradles, 
settling all questions concerning the health of the 
newly born, insisting on receiving letters like this 
from the physician of the royal family: "Without 
your diligence and goodness of heart, the Queen 
would be already almost hopeless; but God has so 
prospered your efforts and listened to your prayers 
that she will finally recover her health." Diana 
made herself the sick-nurse, but she took good care 
to receive a salary therefor which would repay her 
trouble. By a letter signed at Blois, January 17, 
1550, Henry II. gave her 5500 livres of Tours (about 

1 Varillas, Histoire de Henrij second. 

2 Lettres inedites de Diane de Poitiers, published by M. Georges 
Guiffret, 1 vol., 8 mo : Kcnouard. 



182 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

66,000 francs of our money), "on account," said he, 
"of the good, praiseworthy, and agreeable services 
she has heretofore rendered to our dear and much- 
loved companion, the Queen." Two years later, the 
Venetian ambassador, Lorenzo Contarini, wrote these 
characteristic lines : " The Queen continually visits 
the Duchess, who, on her part, renders her the 
kindest offices in the mind of the King, and it is 
often she who exhorts him to go and stay with the 
Queen." At ceremonies, audiences, and receptions, 
Catherine preserved her rank, but it was very 
necessary for her to be contented with the exterior 
signs of royalty; always cool and prudent, she knew 
that her hour had not yet come. She was waiting. 
Everybody, at this time, considered her to be 
merely a good mother of a family, who was super- 
intending the education of her children in the most 
assiduous and intelligent way. In 1550, she lost 
Louis of France, Duke of Orleans, and in 1556, 
Victoire and Jeanne of France, twin sisters. There 
remained to her four sons (Francis II., Charles 
IX., Henry HI., the Duke of Alen^on) and three 
daughters, whose grace and precocious beauty were 
much admired: Madame Elisabeth, born in 1545, 
promised at first to Edward of England, but after- 
wards given to Philip II. ; Madame Claude, born 
in 1517, who became Duchess of Lorraine ; Madame 
Marguerite, born in 1553, who was the celebrated 
Queen Margot. Along with her three little daugh- 
ters, Catherine de' Medici brought up the Queen 



ANB HER CONTEMPORARIES 183 

of Scotland, Mary Stuart, who had been taken to 
France at the age of five, in 1548, and who was 
destined to marry the Dauphin. The list of themes 
and translations given as exercises to these princes 
and princesses has been preserved. The Marquis 
du Prat, in his Histoire d' Elisaheth de Valois, has 
quoted this note, dictated by Catherine to the little 
Queen of Scotland for her to translate into Latin: — 

*'' The true grandeur and excellence of the prince, 
my very dear sister, does not consist in dignity, in 
gold, in purple, and other luxuries of fortune, but 
in prudence, wisdom, and knowledge. And by 
so much as the prince wishes to differ from his 
people in his mode and fashion of living, by so 
much should he be removed from the foolish 
opinions of the vulgar. Adieu, and love me as 
much as you can." 

Under her apparent reserve Catheriiie already 
cloaked profound meditations. She reflected on all 
the court intrigues without meddling in them, 
learning in silence the difficult and complex art of 
manoeuvring between parties. The ambassadors 
were already impressed by the exquisite tact she 
displayed in conversation, and her talent in ques- 
tioning her interlocutors. She showed, for the first 
time, what she was capable of, on August 14, 1557. 
Foreigners were then threatening to invade the 
kingdom, and in order to arrest their successes on 
the northern frontier, it was necessary to obtain 
considerable subsidies from Parliament. Catherine, 



184 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 

who was directing public affairs in her husband's 
absence, rejDaired herself to Parliament, and the 
Venetian ambassador, Giacomo Soranzo, thus de- 
scribes the proceeding;^ "The Queen expressed her- 
self with so much eloquence and feeling that she 
touched all hearts. . . . The session terminated 
amid such applause for Her Majesty, and such livel}^ 
marks of satisfaction with her conduct, as words can 
give no notion of. Nothing is talked about all 
over the city but the Queen's prudence, and the 
happy way in which she proceeded in this under- 
taking." 

The time was approaching when Catherine could 
gratify that passion for governing which was the 
basis of her character. Diana of Poitiers was not 
to triumph much longer. The reign of Henry II. 
ended, as it had begun, with fetes, prodigalities, and 
persecutions. At a time when the country was 
groaning under the burden of interminable wars, and 
strict economy was indispensable to the healing of 
its wounds, the feeble and ostentatious monarch 
plunged into the most exaggerated outlays. The 
marriage of the Dauphin to Mary Stuart was 
celebrated April 24, 1558, with ceremonies marked 
by a truly prodigious luxur3\ The youthful Queen- 
Dauphiness wore a golden crown ornamented with 
pearls, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and 
other jewels of inestimable value. A gallery twelve 
feet high, and hung with vine branches laden with 
grapes in the antique manner, led from the court of 



AND HEli CONTEMPORARIES 185 

the bishop's palace to the open space in front of 
Notre-Dame. The royal dais, sown with lilies, was 
placed before the door. Preceded by the beadles in 
grand costumes, halberd in hand, and by drummers 
and fifers, the Duke of Guise, who acted as master 
of ceremonies, appeared first on the platform, where 
the Bishop of Paris was awaiting the royal family. 
When the cortege arrived before the church door, 
the King drew a ring from his finger, which he 
handed to Cardinal de Bourbon, Archbishop of 
Rouen, and there, under the portico, this prelate 
united the Dauphin and the Queen of Scotland "in 
presence of the Reverend Father in God, Mgr. the 
Bishop of Paris, who made a learned and elegant 
speech to the spectators."^ Then the Duke of 
Guise, accompanied by two heralds-at-arms in coats 
of mail, came on the platform, and called the people 
nearer. ''Largess! largess!" cried the heralds-at- 
arms, flinging gold and silver pieces among the crowd. 
"Then might have been seen such a tumult and 
shouting among the people that one could not have 
heard it thunder, so great was the clamor of the 
spectators as they threw themselves on each other 
in their inordinate desire to have some." There 
was a magnificent fete that evening at the Tournelles 
Palace. " I leave you to imagine the pleasure and 

1 Archives de VHistoire de France, by Cimber and Danjou. 
This passage is cited in the interesting volume published by M. 
Armand Eudel, of Gard, under the title, Eecueil de fragments his- 
toriques SKr les derniers Valois. 



186 CATHERINE I)E' MEDICI 

delectation that the princes and lords, the princesses, 
ladies, and demoiselles then took in the rejoicings 
of such an assembly. And at the dress ball, there 
were masques, mummeries, ballads, and other pas- 
times in such great triumph that it is next to 
impossible to write of them." Twelve artificial 
horses, with trappings of gold and silver cloth, on 
which rode Monsieur d' Orleans, Monsieur d'Angou- 
leme, the children of the Dukes of Guise and Aumale, 
and other young princes, drew the coaches of numer- 
ous pilgrims dressed in cloth of gold and silver, 
sparkling with jewels, and chanting epithalamiums. 
Then six vessels, covered with crimson velvet, ad- 
vanced by irregularly undulating movements which 
imitated the progress of vessels through the waves. 
Each vessel carried a prince who, in thus making 
the round of the hall, took on board the lady whom 
he desired to embark with him on his vessel. King 
Henry II. chose the Queen-Dauphiness ; the Dau- 
phin, the Queen his mother; the Duke of Lorraine, 
Madame Claude ; the King of Navarre, the Queen his 
wife; the Duke of Nemours, Madame Marguerite; 
the Prince of Conde, the Duchess of Guise. "I 
omit several other delectations, mummeries, melo- 
dies, and divers recreations; I will briefly say that 
the major part of those who were in the aforesaid 
hall hardly knew whether the torches and cressets 
illuminated it better than so many sorts of rings, 
brilliants, gold, and silver." 

Does one get a just idea of the iniquities, vio- 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 187 

lences, vexations, that were required to nourish this 
fatal luxury ? What sufferings, what tears, to real- 
ize these great victories of opulence and sensuality! 
It is not only wild beasts that are stricken by the 
darts of the beautiful huntresses, — their arrows 
pierce the hearts of the poor. It is by means of 
rapine and destruction that they build these elegant 
dwellings where the refinements of art heap marvels 
upon marvels. To the festivities succeed the per- 
secutions. Voluptuousness and cruelty might be 
the motto of this century. Provided a few heretics 
are burned from time to time, the King is at peace 
with himself. Never was any man more the sport 
of a false conscience. His persistence in adultery 
is his chief pride. He is bent on acting as a lover 
to his sexagenarian mistress, although in realitv his 
affection is now only that of a friend. He does not 
even see the hatreds heaped up against him by the 
shameless favoritism, the mad follies which are the 
scandal of his reign. He takes seriously the strange 
parody of knightly manners which in his day is 
already anachronistic rubbish. Born with good 
dispositions, and a gentle, indulgent character, 
flattery has made him ridiculous and hateful. The 
fault brings its chastisement. The house of Guise, 
so imprudentl}" aggrandized to please the favorite, 
will ruin that of Valois. The Protestants, exasper- 
ated by indescribable cruelties, will plunge into 
terrible rebellions. The blood of the victims cries 
for vengeance. June 10, 1559, the King repairs to 



188 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



Parliament to strike the heretics with terror; he 
finds intrepid men there. "It is not a thing of 
slight importance," exclaims Councillor Anne Du 
Bourg, "to condemn those who, in the midst of the 
flames, invoke the name of Jesus Christ. . . . 
What! shall crimes worthy of death, shall blas- 
phemies, adulteries, horrible debaucheries, perjuries, 
be committed every day with impunity in the sight 
of Heaven, and every day new tortures be invented 
for men whose only crime is to have discovered the 
Roman turpitude by the light of Holy Scripture, 
and to demand a salutary reformation! " Councillor 
Du Faur expresses himself with still greater vio- 
lence: "We must understand," says he, "wdio they 
are who trouble the Church, lest that should happen 
which Elijah said to King Ahab: It is thou that 
troublest Israel." Exasperated, Henry II. causes 
the two bold orators to be arrested, and sends them 
to the Bastille. Condemning them in advance to 
the scaffold, he intends to see them burned with his 
own eyes. But he is reckoning without Mont- 
gomery's lance. 

The fetes had just begun anew. On June 20, 
the famous Duke of Alva had espoused, by proxy, 
in the name of Philip 11. , the young Elisabeth of 
France, and on the 27th, the contract of marriage 
between the Duke of Savoy and Madame Mar- 
guerite had been signed. The 29th, a tournament 
took place before the Tournelles Palace, almost 
at the foot of the Bastille, where Councillors 



AND HEB CONTEMPORARIES 189 

Anne Du Boiirg and Du Faur were imprisoned. 
At this period there were in circulation two unpleas- 
ant predictions, one old and the other new, whicli 
pointed out with sufficient precision the kind of 
death by which the King was menaced. The old 
one had been made by Luke Gaurico, a celebrated 
Italian astrologer, in whom the Queen had great 
confidence. She had entreated him to draw the 
horoscope of Henry II., and he had predicted that 
the Prince would be fatally wounded in a duel at 
the age of forty. Gaurico had been derided, people 
declaring that their royalty exempted sovereigns 
from that kind of danger. But, within a week, a new 
prediction, entirely conformable to the old one, had 
disquieted people's minds. The King, without being 
disturbed, remarked to the Constable that prophecies 
were sometimes fulfilled, and he would like as well, 
or better, to die in a duel than otherwise, providing 
it were by the hand of a brave man. Henry did not 
imagine he was speaking so truly. Still wearing 
the colors of his aged mistress, he was tilting 
brilliantly in the lists, when Montgomery's lance 
struck him in the face and pierced through the 
right eye to the brain. A few days later he 
breathed his last. The superstitious Catherine 
believed more firmly than ever in the supernatural 
power of astrologers. 



VI 



MAEY STUAET 



rriO the influence of Diana of Poitiers and of 
-L Montmorency succeeded that of Mary Stuart 
and the Guises. Frail, scrofulous, undecided in 
character, and slothful in mind, married before the 
age of puberty, and submissive as a slave to his 
wife, Francis II. might be said to be crushed under 
the weight of his crown. Diana of Poitiers dis- 
appeared from the scene. The young King sent her 
word that her evil influence over the deceased 
monarch deserved a great punishment, but that in 
his royal clemency he would not trouble her any 
further; nevertheless, she must restore all the jewels 
she had received from Henry II. It was thus that 
the gems which had passed successively with the 
favor of sovereigns, from the Countess of Chateau- 
briand to the Duchess d'Etampes, and from the 
Duchess d'Etampes to the great Seneschale, returned 
to the crown. Catherine de' Medici, who never 
cared to avenge herself for the mere pleasure of 
vengeance, was satisfied with requiring Diana to sur- 
render to her the magnificent castle of Chenonceaux 
in exchange for the glooni}^ domain of Chaumont- 

190 



CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 191 

sur-Loire, and took no further pains to annoy her 
former rival. 

The rivals now are Catherine de' Medici and 
Mary Stuart, one forty years of age, and the other 
seventeen ; one who had never been really beautiful, 
the other dazzling and admirable; the one a cool 
schemer, mistress of herself, hiding her emotions 
under an impenetrable mask, and possessing the 
temperament of a statesman; the other inexperi- 
enced, ardent, impetuous, carried away by the 
vehemence of her character, and making an open 
display of her sensations and caprices. The one 
has already been subjected to many trials; a child, 
she had been entangled in great catastrophes; a 
young woman, she had seen her pride humbled both 
as wife and queen. The other knows yet neither 
the dangers nor the sorrows of life; flattered from 
her cradle, suffering no contradiction, proud of her 
double crown, prouder still of her beauty, she is 
intoxicated by the incense which an idolizing court 
burns in her honor. 

The grave L'H6pital himself addresses her Latin 
verses wherein he declares her the most beautiful 
and accomplished person of her times in all respects. 
The borders of flattery are enlarged for her sake. 
Mythology is brought into requisition for its most 
charming images, and lyrism for its most hyper- 
bolical expressions whereby to celebrate this wonder 
of wonders. She is regarded as an exceptional, a 
divine being. Brant6me but echoes all the courtiers 



192 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

when he goes into ecstasies over the precocious 
learning, the incomparable brilliancy, of the young 
Queen, when he describes her in her national High- 
land costume, "in the barbarous fashion of the 
savages of her country, appearing like a true goddess 
in a mortal body and a coarse dress," singing very 
well, and accompanying her voice with a lute, 
" which she touches firmly with that beautiful white 
hand and those fair and well-formed fingers," which 
would inspire envy "in those of dawn." When she 
marries, "both court and city resound with cries 
that a hundredfold blessed is the Prince about to be 
united with this Princess, and that although th(i 
kingdom of Scotland was a thing of price, yet the 
Queen is worth still rnore, because though she had. 
neither sceptre nor crown, yet her person alone, and 
her divine beauty, were worth a kingdom; but, since 
she is a queen, she brings a double fortune to 
France and to her husband." 

How resist this enchantress who still impassions 
posterity, and after the lapse of centuries finds 
fanatical admirers? Between his mother and his 
wife the young King does not hesitate. Absorbed 
even to ecstasy by a passion which was to be his 
first and last, the royal stripling lives solely for his 
fascinating companion. Catherine knows the human 
heart too well to enter into a strife which would 
have been still more hopeless against the youthful 
Mary Stuart than the aged Diana of Poitiers. And 
besides, what would be the use? Catherine does 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 193 

not desire her son's death, but she knows he will 
not live. The astrologers have told her so. What 
matter is it if Mary Stuart, full of family prejudices, 
considers her mother-in-law a woman of low birth, 
and even treats her sometimes as "the daughter of 
Italian merchants"? Believing herself far superior 
in wisdom and experience to the young Queen, Avhom 
she regards as a madcap, Catherine, who for more 
than twenty years has put up with the Seneschale, 
can easily put up with her for a few months. Since 
the days of Francis II. are numbered, she mounts 
her batteries in advance, and making ready in 
silence for the great struggles about to begin, she 
studies, analyzes, compares, and waits. The con- 
spirac}^ of Amboise does not disturb her. An 
impassible spectator of the executions, she is present 
at them, as the Roman matrons were at the gladia- 
torial combats. 

Regnier de La Plance has related these horrible 
events with much detail. The streets of Amboise, 
strewn Avith dead bodies, streamed with blood. The 
Loire was covered with corpses fastened to long 
poles. During a Avhole month nothing was done 
but "decapitate, hang, and drown people." "But 
what was strange to behold, and unusual in all 
forms of government, they were led to execution 
without any sentence having been pronounced on 
them in public, nor any cause assigned for their 
death, nor even their names mentioned. . . . One 
thing observed with regard to some of the principals 



194 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

was that they were reserved until after dinner, 
contrary to custom; but the Guise party did it 
expressly for the sake of giving some pastime to 
the ladies, who, as they saw, were growing tired of 
being in the place so long." Catherine de' Medici, 
Mary Stuart, and all the court ladies looked on at 
these atrocious scenes from the upper part of the 
terrace, "and the sufferers were pointed out to them 
by Cardinal Lorraine, who showed signs of rejoicing, 
and when any of the victims died more steadfastly, 
he said: 'Look, Sire, at these shameless madmen! 
Even the fear of death cannot humble their pride 
and treason. What would they have done if they 
had got hold of you?'" The Duchess of Guise, 
daughter of the Duke of Ferrara and Renee of 
France, having been taken almost by force to this 
spectacle, came back from it in such grief that she 
dissolved in tears on entering the room of the Queen- 
mother. Catherine, on beholding her so afflicted, 
asked what was the matter, what had happened to 
make her "so sad, and complain so strangely." — 
"I have every reason in the world," she replied, 
" for I have just seen the most piteous tragedy. . . . 
In short, I do not doubt that a great calamity will 
fall on our house, and that God will exterminate 
us for the cruelties and inhumanities which we 
commit." 

The triumphant house of Guise wished to kill 
the King of Navarre and the Prince of Cond^. The 




1'^^^ 



"r^. 



.J ■-- , 



y^^^ 






,/'•>' 



MARIE STUART 

WHEN DAUPHINESS OF FRANCE 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 195 

Prince, having been condemned, was about to ])e 
executed, when Francis II. fell ill. Catherine, 
alarmed at the omnipotence of the Guises, thought 
it wise to oppose them by means of the Bourbons. 
She caused the execution of Conde to be delayed, 
and the King's death, which occurred December 5, 
1560, saved him. Francis II., who was only 
sixteen years old, had reigned for seventeen months. 
"It was remarked," says Varillas, "that he was 
born during an eclipse, that he had been married 
amid the fires of warfare, and that the hall which 
had been arranged for the trial of the Prince of 
Conde and several other guilty persons was used 
for his lying-in-state." 

Catherine's hour had come. At last she was 
about to govern. Mary Stuart, who at first with- 
drew to the , convent of Saint Peter, at Rheims, 
where her aunt was abbess, breathed out her grief 
in poetic lines, which BrantOme has preserved 
for us : — 

" Si en quelque sejour, 
Soit en bois ou eii pree, 
Soit pour I'aube du jour 
Ou pour la vespree, 
Sans cesse men coeur sent 
Le regret d'un absent ; 
Si je suis en repos, 
Sommeillant sur ma couche, 
J'ay qu'il me tient propos, 
Je le sens qui me touche. 



196 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



En labeur, en recoy, 
Toujours est pres de nioi." ^ 

Mary, who loved France passionately, would have 
liked to stay in her own domain of Touraine and 
Poitou; but Catherine, who was jealous of the 
intelligence and beauty of her daughter-in-law, 
desired nothing more ardently than her return to 
Scotland. Henry II. had been governed throughout 
his reign by a woman older than himself. Would 
it be surprising if Mary Stuart, who was but eight 
years older than Charles IX., should some day exert 
influence over him ? " As to which it is in nowise 
doubtful," says Brant6me, "that if, at the time of 
his Parliament, King Charles, her brother-in-law, 
had been of full age instead of very young and 
small, and had also been in such a mood of love for 
her as I have seen him in, he would never have 
allowed her to depart, but would resolutely have 
espoused her. For I have seen him so much in love 
that he could never look at her portrait without his 

1 If in some place I stay, 
In forest or in fell, 
Whether at break of day 
Or at the vesper bell, 
Still, still my heart is sore 
Por one who comes no more ; 
If I am in repose, 
Sleeping upon my bed, 
^ There is who cometh close, 

Whose hand on me is laid. 
In toil or thought I see 
Him who is near to me. 



AND HEB CONTEMPORARIES 197 

eyes becoming so fixed and enraptured that he could 
scarcely remove or satisfy them, and have often 
heard him say that she was the most beautiful 
princess ever born into the world, and that he 
considered his brother only too happy, and thought 
he ought not to regret lying in the grave, since in 
this world he had possessed this beauty even for so 
short a time, and that such enjoyment outweighed 
that of his kingdom." 

Philip II. had a momentary inclination to play 
the same part in Scotland that France had, and 
to marry his son Carlos to Mary Stuart. At the 
beginning of the year 1561, Cardinal Lorraine had 
talked of this project with the Spanish ambassa- 
dor, Chantonnay. Catherine de' Medici opposed it 
with all her might, such an alliance seeming to her 
a serious danger for the house of Valois. The 
Bishop of Limoges, French ambassador at Philip's 
court, was ordered to do all that was possible to 
prevent such a marriage, and the prospect which 
Catherine dreaded so greatly was never realized. 

The Queen-mother, not contented with this first 
success, redoubled her efforts to induce her daughter- 
in-law to leave France. Certain emissaries urged 
Mary to return to her own dominions in order to 
re-establish the Catholic religion there, and extin- 
guish, if possible, the flame of civil dissensions. 
Her uncles of Aumale and Elbeuf persuaded her 
instinctively, and without premonition of the woes 
from which it would have saved her, to remain in 



198 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



the land of her affections; but Cardinal Lorraine, 
whether in the interests of Catholicism, or fearing 
lest his niece might lose the Scottish crown, or de- 
siring to avert the enmity of Catherine de' Medici, 
strongly advised Mary Stuart to return to her king- 
dom, and his advice finally prevailed. The Cardinal 
tried to persuade his niece to leave in his care the 
jewels and precious objects she had received in 
France, lest they might be lost through some acci- 
dent of the voyage. Mary declined this proposition, 
saying that since she was going to risk her life on 
the sea, she surely might risk her jewels also. 

The voyage was not altogether safe, by reason of 
the hostile dispositions of Queen Elizabeth. The 
English cruisers were to be dreaded, and Mary 
Stuart asked her rival for a safe-conduct which 
would enable her to pass within view of the English 
shores without danger; but this safe-conduct was 
refused her. She did not hide from Throckmorton, 
the English ambassador, the painful surprise she 
experienced at this refusal. "Sir," she said to him, 
"nothing afflicts me more than to have so far for- 
gotten myself as to beg of the Queen, your mistress, 
a favor of which I had no need." In July, 1561, 
she went to Saint-Germain to bid adieu to the young 
King and the court before quitting that land of 
France to which, eight years later, she was vainly to 
solicit Elizabeth's permission to return at the price 
of a ransom, " as was the custom among all princes, 
even enemies." "I hope," she said at that time to 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 199 



Throckmorton, "that the wind will be favorable to 
me, and that I shall not have to land on the English 
coast. If I do land there, Mr. Ambassador, your 
Queen will keep me in her hands, and can do with 
me what she pleases. If she is so cruel as to desire 
my death, let her have it, let her sacrifice me. 
Perhaps that fate would be better for me than life. 
May the w^ill of God be done ! " 

Mary Stuart set sail from Calais, August 14, 1561. 
Brant6me, who accompanied her on the voyage, 
relates in touching words, the beautiful Queen's 
farewells to France. Just as she was embarking, 
she beheld on the horizon a vessel which foundered 
instead of entering the port. Most of its passengers 
were drowned. "Ah! my God! what an omen!" 
exclaimed the royal exile. 

The mournful voyage had begun. Mary, " without 
dreaming of another action, leaned her two arms on 
the poop of the galley, on the side of the helm, and 
melted into great tears, constantly turning her 
beautiful eyes toward the port she had sailed from, 
and always saying these words : Adieu, France ! 
adieu, France! and continued this doleful exercise 
nearly five hours, until, as night began to fall, some 
one asked if she would not remove from there, and 
take a little supper. Then redoubling her tears 
more than ever, she said these words : 'Truly it is 
at this hour, dear France, that I wholly lose sight of 
you, since night, obscure and jealous of my satisfac- 
tion in seeing you as long as I can, drops a heavy 



200 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 



veil before my eyes to deprive me of such a happi- 
ness.' " The famous piece of verse — 

" Adieu, plaisant pays de France, 
O ma patrie, 
La plus cherie 
Qui as nourri ma jeune enfance," ^ 

is apocryphal,^ they say; but the sentiments it 
expresses are doubtless Mary Stuart's. When night 
was come, "she commanded the helmsman, as soon 
as day should break, if he could still see and 
discover the land of France, to awaken her and not 
be afraid to call her. As to which fortune favored 
her; for the wind having ceased, and oars resorted 
to, very little progress was made that night, so little 
that when day appeared, the land of France appeared 
also, and the helmsman, not failing to obey the 
command he had received, she rose up in her b©d 
and began to contemplate France again as long as 
she could; but the vessel moving further away, her 
contentment departed also, and she saw her beautiful 
land no more. Then were again renewed these 
words: 'Adieu, France! it is over! Adieu, France! 
I think I shall never see you again. ' " The voyage 

1 Adieu, pleasant land of France — . 
O my country — 
The most cherished — 
"Which nourished my young childhood. 

2 M. Feullet de Conches, in Vol. IV, of his Causeries d''un Curi- 
ewaj, attributes this piece of verse to Meusnier de Querlon, which 
appeared for the first time in the Anthologie franqaise. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 201 



lasted five days, and the arrival was as sad as the 
departure. " One Sunday morning that we arrived 
in Scotland," says Brant6me again, "such a great 
fog arose that we could not see from the poop to the 
prow, so thick that we were obliged to cast anchor 
in open sea, and take soundings to find out where 
we were. This fog lasted all day and all night 
until eight o'clock the next morning, when we found 
ourselves surrounded by so many reefs, that if we 
had gone forward, or to either side, we should have 
foundered on the rocks and all perished. Con- 
cerning which the Queen said that as far as she 
was concerned, she would not have cared much, as 
she desired nothing so greatly as death." It was 
not Mary Stuart alone who was struck by such 
omens. "Having seen and recognized the land of 
Scotland on the morning the fog lifted, there were 
those who predicted that this fog signified they 
were about to land in a disorderly kingdom, troubled 
and unpleasant." 

Poor Queen ! what humiliations, what griefs, will 
be yours during the twenty-seven years you have 
still to live, or, rather, to suffer ! How bitterly you 
will expiate the brilliancy of your youth and your 
double crown! Yet a little while, and instead of 
enthusiastic admirers you will have nothing but 
rebellious and insolent subjects. They will force 
you to drink to the dregs the chalice of bitterness. 
The diadem will scorch your forehead like a ring of 
fire. Humiliated and vanquished, betrayed as queen, 



202 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

betrayed as woman, accused of odious crimes, steeped 
in calumnies and insults, you will be obliged to 
seek a refuge near your enemy, and this refuge will 
be a captivity of twenty years, and, after the prison, 
death. The headsman will seize hold of your beau- 
tiful tresses, whitened by grief; your eyes, those 
eyes which cast so soft and radiant a light, will be 
bandaged ; they will place your august and charming 
head upon the fatal block. Then you will repeat 
the psalm : " hi te, Domine^ speravi^ non confundar in 
ceternum " ; and at the moment when you utter the 
words : " My God, into thy hands I commit my 
spirit," " In manus tuas^ Domine, commendo spiritum 
meum^'' a blow from the axe will put an end to all 
your sufferings. Then they will fling a scrap of 
frieze, torn from a billiard table, over your body, once 
so admired, so flattered, and not one of those sworn 
to defend you will rise up to avenge you. 

" Well, they may say what they like, but many a 
noble heart will take sides for Mary Stuart, even 
though all that is said about her should be true." 
In recalling this speech, which Walter Scott places 
in the mouth of one of the characters in his romance, 
The Ahhot, M. Sainte-Beuve adds that this will be 
the last word of posterity as well as of her contem- 
poraries, the verdict of history as well as of poetry. 

" Vanquished in the order of realities, the beauti- 
ful Queen has regained everything in the realm of 
imagination. There, from century to century, she 
has found knights and lovers. Some years since a 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 203 

distinguished Russian, Prince Alexander Labanoff, 
undertook, with incomparable zeal, a search among 
the archives, collections, and libraries of Europe, for 
all the pieces emanating from Mary Stuart, in order 
to bring them together, and make of them a body of 
history, and, at the same time, an authentic reli- 
quary, not doubting that interest, — a serious and 
tender interest, — would spring more powerfully 
from the bosom of truth itself." Dead, as it were, 
during her lifetime, Mar}^ Stuart has had the privi- 
lege of exciting at once enthusiasm and anger. 

As M. Feuillet de Conches has said so well in 
his remarkable Causeries d'un Curieux^ she belongs 
to "the number of those political personages con- 
cerning whom polemists of all parties continue to 
fling burning coals at each other. Look at the 
passionate books that are written about her. Would 
not one call them great combats fought over the 
tombs of the heroes of antiquity ? " The innocence 
of Mary Stuart in Darnley's murder has been 
impeached by M. Mignet, who, on this point, is an 
able and vigorous prosecutor. But the memory of 
the Queen has none the less found ardent and con- 
vinced defenders. A learned professor, M. Wiese- 
ner,^ has revised the indictment and made an 
emphatic protest against M. Mignet's thesis. He 
maintains that the pretended letters of Mary to 



1 See also the admirable Histoire de Marie Stuart by M. 
Darsaud. 



204 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

Both well, and the coarse verses attributed to the 
Queen, are apocryphal. He recalls that Bothwell, 
then taking shelter in Denmark, when believing 
himself on the point of death, avowed himself the 
author of the murder, and, at the same time, declared 
that the Queen had taken no part in plotting or 
executing the crime. Finally, let us cite a letter 
written to Mary, November 8, 1575, by her mother- 
in-law, the Countess of Lennox, a letter intercepted 
by Cecil's spies, and found by Miss Agnes Strick- 
land in the State Papers Office. It shows that even 
Darnley's mother, after having pursued Mary with 
violence, had in the end fully recognized her 
innocence. 

Innocent or guilty, Mary Stuart will always excite 
profound sympathy. M. Sainte-Beuve has said as 
much in eloquent terms : " That gentle charm with 
which she was endowed, and which acted on all who 
approached her, resumes the ascendancy and works 
upon us from a distance. It is neither with a regis- 
trar's text, nor even with the reason of a states- 
man, that one judges her, but with the heart of a 
chevalier, or, say rather, of a man. Humanity, 
pity, religion, poetic and supreme grace, all these 
invincible immortal powers, have an interest in 
her person, and cry aloud in her behalf across the 
ages." Even if we admit that Mary Stuart had 
been guilty, which for our own point we strongly 
doubt, are we not still more affected by the sanc- 
tity of her repentance? In the night preceding 



AND HER CONTEMPOBABIES 205 

her execution she searched the Old and New 
Testaments for an example of some great sinner 
whom God had pardoned, and chose the history 
of the good thief to be read to her. "He was a 
great sinner," said she, "but not so great as I; 
I entreat our Saviour, by the memory of His 
passion, to remember and have mercy on me as He 
did on him." 



VII 

CATHEKINE DE' MEDICI REGENT 

TO Francis II. had succeeded Charles IX. ; to 
an imaginary majority, a real minority. The 
little King was only ten years old. At last Cathe- 
rine de' Medici reigned. Never had a more over- 
whelming burden rested on a woman's shoulders. 
A Blanche of Castile's force of soul would not have 
been great enough to struggle against the formidable 
tempests about to be let loose on France. Catherine 
foreboded them. " My own, " she wrote to her daugh- 
ter, Elisabeth, Queen of Spain, " recommend yourself 
well to God, for you have seen me as contented as 
you are, never expecting to have any other tribula- 
tion than that of not being loved according to my 
liking by the King, your father. And God has 
taken him from me, and not content with that, He 
has taken your brother also, whom I loved as you 
know, and has left me with three little children, 
and a kingdom so divided that there is not a single 
one in whom I can wholly trust who has not some 
private prejudice." True, history has a right to be 
severe towards this woman. Yet, for all that, it 
must recognize the terrible obstacles she had to 

203 



CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 207 

surmount, and give her credit for the courage with 
which she accepted the struggle. The Venetian 
ambassadors who witnessed her indefatigable efforts, 
have spoken of them with a sympathy approaching 
tenderness. "I do not know," says one of them, 
Giovanni Correr, " what prince would not have made 
mistakes in such a great confusion; how much 
more, a woman, a foreigner, without trusty friends, 
frightened, and never hearing the truth from those 
about her. For my part, I have often been surprised 
that she did not become thoroughly confused, and 
give way to one of the two parties, which would 
have been a final calamity to the kingdom. It is 
she who has preserved the remnant of royal majesty 
still to be found there. This is why I have always 
pitied rather than blamed her, and she has often 
reminded me of it when speaking of her distresses 
and the woes of France." It is a mistake to fancy 
Catherine as always impassible. No doubt, like the 
majority of great politicians, she had learned how to 
mask her feelings. But there were moments when 
nature resumed her rights, and the mask itself was 
inundated with tears. "I know," says Giovanni 
Correr again, "that she has more than once been 
found weeping in her chamber; but she at once 
dried her eyes and dissembled her sadness; and in 
order to mislead those who estimated the state of 
affairs by the expression of her countenance, she 
wore a calm and jo3^ous aspect when abroad." 

It must not be believed that the Queen-mother 



208 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

had always had settled projects, fixed plans. There 
is no science more contingent than that of politics. 
Assuredly, Catherine knew what she wanted; her 
aim was to save the house of Valois, and solidify 
the royal authority. But the means to do this 
varied with events. Justice demands us to recog- 
nize that she began by trying the paths of gentleness, 
moderation, and impartiality. In a time when there 
were as yet no constitutions, she acted, at the be- 
ginning of her regency, like a true constitutional 
sovereign. She sought to balance powers, she tried 
conciliation, she induced mortal enemies like the 
Duke of Guise and the Prince of Conde to embrace 
each other. A prophetic inkling of the ideas of 
1789 animated the States-General of Orleans. A 
profound thinker who had divined the future, Chan- 
cellor L'H6pital, spoke as a great orator of our days 
might do. He announced principles which in his 
time seemed paradoxes, but which in ours are 
axioms. We believe that at this time Catherine 
was sincere, that she seriously desired the good of 
the kingdom, that her intentions were upright ; 
but, and it is a sad confession to make, had she 
continued in this path, her century would probably 
have neither understood nor followed her. 

In troublous and violent epochs, the masses listen 
to nothing but exaggerations. Moderate people are 
considered lukewarm. There is no longer either 
impartiality or justice. The moral sense and the 
reason disappear together. Doubtless, truly noble 



AND HEB CONTEMPOBARIES 209 

souls are not immoderately affected by these aber- 
rations of public opinion. Persevering without 
uneasiness in the path of right and duty, they 
remember the old adage which is the device of 
virtue, Do what you ought, come what may. But 
Catherine was not one of those grand characters 
which events do not affect. From the day on which 
she became convinced that mildness would not suc- 
ceed, she never recoiled from crime. 

It is incontestable that the Queen-mother hesitated 
momentarily between the rival cults. She had been 
greatly impressed by the progress of Protestantism. 
In 1555, there Avas but a single reformed church in 
all France ; in 1559, there were two tliousand. The 
Spanish ambassador, Chantonnay, wrote, September 
6, 1561 : " Take into consideration that whatever 
is lawful at Geneva, as to sermons, administration 
of the sacraments, and similar things, may be done 
with impunity throughout the kingdom, beginning 
in the King's own house, and he is thought stupid 
who does not do the Avorst he can." The Prince de 
la Roche-sur-Yon, who superintended the education 
of Charles IX., showed himself favorable to the new 
religion. Surrounded as she was by a great number 
of Protestant ladies, Catherine questioned whether 
it were the interest of the dynasty to remain loyal 
to the Catholic faith. 

She liked much the notion of replenishing the 
funds by seizing ecclesiastical property. Her Hu- 
guenot courtiers said that nothing could be easier 



210 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

than to make France Protestant, and that where 
Henry VIII. and Gnstavus Wasa had succeeded so 
easily she could not fail. Would not a word 
from Catherine suffice to change the religion of 
the kingdom, as had happened in England and 
in Sweden? Nothing was more dangerous than 
such counsels, and the Queen-mother soon repented 
of having, for several months, entertained an incli- 
nation to follow them. It is evident, none the less, 
that at the beginning of her regency she inclined 
toward the new ideas. Either through fear of the 
Guises, or in hopes of turning the reform movement 
in favor of the royal authority, she gave the Protes- 
tants great hopes, and had a disguised Calvinist, 
the Bishop of Valence, preach before the young 
King. He spoke, says a Venetian ambassador, "on 
ail the points as clearly as if he had been in the 
middle of Geneva." Cardinal de Chavillon per- 
formed the ceremony of feet- washing in the Cathedral 
of Beauvais, with his wife at his side. 

The development of Protestantism in France is 
at once a curious and painful spectacle. Certain 
it is that in both cults there were some honest, 
convinced souls, led by conscience and the passion 
for truth; Protestants who wished that manners and 
morals might be quickened with the primitive 
purity of the best days of Christianity, and Catholics 
who, while sincerely loyal to the faith of their 
fathers, beheld with sacred and profound sorrow the 
attacks made on unity of dogma. But, close beside 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 211 



these choice souls, what light, superficial, inconsis- 
tent spii'its! What mean and miserable considera- 
tions blended with religious questions ! For some. 
Protestantism was an affair of interest, ambition, or 
rancor; for others it was a caprice, an infatuation, 
a whim. There was a moment when well-bred men 
of the Catholic party chose to display a more or less 
decided predilection for the doctrines of Geneva. 
Marot's French Psalms were fashionable literature. 
The labor of searching the Bible was left to a few 
grave doctors. Were scholasticism and theology 
harmonious with the gay and careless humor of the 
young nobles of the court of Charles IX. ? And yet 
the religious passions reappeared at intervals in 
these frivolous natures. How many times the same 
man who would have staked his religion at night on 
a throw of the dice, had veritable attacks of fanati- 
cism on the morrow! The Germans, who served in 
the Calvinistic troops, never lost their wonder at 
this versatility. "These French weathercocks," 
s.aid they, "for whom people are killed to-day, are 
ready to embrace each other to-morrow." 

The fluctuations of public opinion, not yet de- 
cided, exercised some influence over the mind of 
Catherine, "a wise woman," says the Venetian 
ambassador, Michel Suriano, "but timid, irresolute, 
and always a woman." It has been said, wrongly 
as I believe, that she was completely incredulous. 
It is j)i'obable that, like many other souls, she had 
her moments of faith and her moments of scepticism. 



212 CATHERINE BE' MEBICI 



Brought up in the Catholic religion, she retained up 
to a certain point the impressions of her childhood. 
She certainly believed in hell and in paradise, in 
the devil and in God. But she varied as to other 
doctrines. There were hours when, like Montaigne, 
she would have been tempted to say: What do I 
know? There were others when the religious senti- 
ment regained entire possession of her soul. Noth- 
ing absolute can be found in her. Her character is 
full of contradictions, and the historians who will 
conscientiously analyze her life, will waver, like her 
contemporaries, between sympathy and dislike for 
this mobile nature. 

From the day when she gained the twofold con- 
viction that Protestantism was sapping the founda- 
tions of royal authority, and that Catholicism was 
assured of success, Catherine no longer hesitated. 
The first wars of religion opened her eyes to the 
tendencies, by turns republican and feudal, of the 
Calvin is t leaders, to the ambition of the Prince of 
Conde and Admiral Coligny, to the danger to the 
great cause of French unity arising from the new 
ideas, and to the anti-national character of the 
Huguenot alliance with England. 

Brant6me describes the exasperation she displayed 
when the English made their appearance in Nor- 
mandy. "When Rouen was besieged," he tells us, 
" I saw her in all the rages in the world, when she 
saw the English success enter there; . . . hence 
she turned every stone to take the place, and never 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 213 

failed to come every clay to Fort Saint Catherine." 
She was not less vigorous in driving the foreigners 
from Havre in 1563, and assuredly one of the finest 
epochs of her life was that in which she induced 
Catholics and Protestants to unite in this enterprise 
and to set patriotism above party disputes. 

"To return to our Queen," says Brantome again, 
" her enemies have charged that she was not a good 
Frenchwoman. God knows it, and with Avhat zeal 
I saw her urged to drive the English out of Havre- 
de-Gr^ce, and what she said about it to Monsieur 
the Prince, and how she made him go there with the 
gentlemen of his party and Monsieur Andelot's first 
companies, and other Huguenots, and how she led 
the army in person, being usually on horseback like 
a second fair Queen Marphisa, exposing herself to 
musket-shots and cannonades, like one of her cap- 
tains, always watching the battery fire and saying 
she would never be easy until she had driven the 
English from France, hating worse than poison those 
who had sold it to them. Thus she did so much 
that it made her French." 

It is impossible to deny that, with all her faults, 
Catherine had , the national sentiment. When she 
saw that the heart of the nation beat for the Catholic 
cause, she would have no more of the Reformation. 
Moreover, she had too much intelligence not to 
comprehend that to abandon the honor of protecting 
the faith to the Guises, was to destroy, for their 
behoof, all the prestige of the crown. "Tlie 



214 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

churches were the theatre of all the fetes and all 
the joys of the people; their palaces were more 
splendid than those of the kings, where, kings in 
their turn, they forgot all their hard labors and their 
miserable dwellings in dreams of heaven. What 
was offered them in place of all this magnificent 
Catholic symbolism, this immense poem in action 
which incessantly unrolled with the rolling year? 
Abstract worship of the spirit, in temples void and 
empty to eyes of flesh, enthusiasm for moral reform, 
praise of the Christian's dignity sounding in the 
chants of a new harmony, the sole act of an 
iconoclastic worship." 

There was, in the first place, in religion as well 
as in the French character, a strife between the 
northern and the southern spirit. But the southern 
influence was not slow to conquer. The people 
were attached with all their soul to the pomp and 
poetry of the religion of their fathers. It was 
perceived that in France Catholicism was the soul 
of the family, the city, and the nation. Catherine, 
who had written to the Pope to ask for the sup- 
pression of images, communion under both species, 
and prayers in the vulgar tongue, "because it is 
impossible to reduce either by arms or by laws those 
who have separated from the Roman Church, their 
numbers being so great," — Catherine changed her 
mind. She watched with attentive eyes the spec- 
tacle that was unrolling before her eyes. When she 
beheld the Huguenots, like true Vandals, destroy- 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 215 



ing the masterpieces of the Middle Ages, dragging 
crucifixes and relics through the mud, raging at 
everything which to the people meant civilization, 
haj)piness, and glory; when these modern Saracens 
respected not even the dead; when they profaned, 
at Angouleme, the sepulchres of the ancestors of 
the reigning family; when they burned, at Cldri, 
the bones of Louis XI., and at Sainte-Croix the 
heart of Francis II. ; Catherine, as she listened to 
the cry of wrath and vengeance which rose from the 
Catholic masses told herself that the Valois must 
range themselves on the side of the people, if they 
would not perish in the tempest. Moreover, the 
Catholic triumvirate, which had so alarmed Cathe- 
rine, no longer existed. The Marshal of Saint- 
Andre had been killed at the battle of Dreux, and 
the Duke of Guise assassinated before Orleans. 
Protestantism was now the danger for authority. 
Ideas of moderation had no longer any influence. 
The civil war assumed a savage character on both 
sides; whole garrisons had their throats cut. The 
wells were choked with human bodies; the soldiers 
became headsmen. Roadside trees turned into gib- 
bets. "The civil war," says Castelnau in his 
Memoirs, "were an inexhaustible source of all vil- 
lainies, thefts, robberies, murders, incests, adulteries, 
parricides." 

And yet Catherine did not despair of appeasing 
all hatreds, ending all discords, and bringing out 
the royal authority victorious from all its trials. 



216 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

" She thought she could dispel the turbulent humor, 
Avhich she attributed rather to an ambitious move- 
ment, and the love of vengeance than to religious 
sentiments. She hoped, also, that the obedience of 
the people would increase as the King grew older, 
so that the seditious could not thenceforward lift 
their heads with so much assurance. She told me 
one day that if she alone among all the queens of 
France had encountered such evils, she would believe 
herself the most unfortunate woman in the world; 
but she was consoled when she remembered that 
always, during the minority of kings, the great had 
endeavored to seize hold of affairs." ^ 

Nothing discouraged her. The more difficult the 
situation, the more astuteness, patience, and activity 
she displayed. Her life was an incessant labor. 
M. Michelet himself, the pitiless detractor of Cathe- 
rine, does justice to "her facile pen, alwa^^s ready 
and always trimmed. At the head of the Laube- 
spins, the Pinarts, the Villeroys, and other French 
secretaries, at the head of the Gondis, the Biragues, 
and other Italian secretaries, must be placed that 
untiring female scribe, Catherine de' Medici. If 
there is no despatch to draw up, she makes up for 
it by writing letters of politeness, compliment, or 
condolence, even to private persons. . . . The 
great ladies of the period, Catherine, Mary Stuart, 
Marguerite of Valois, write fluently a language 

1 Despatch of the Venetian ambassador, Giovanni Correr. 



AND BEE CONTEMPOBAEIES 217 

already modem, agreeable, and easy, wherein the 
few obsolete expressions seem but an amiable Gallic 
naivete, and impart a deceptive air of antique 
candor." M. Armand Baschet has remarked very 
truly: "A just, veracious, and great histor}^ of 
Catherine de' Medici would be impossible, except 
after studying her private letters. Her ability, her 
penetration, her astonishing facility in obviating all 
difficulties come out in all her expressions. . . . 
Subtle and eager, such is Catherine, and in her (liow 
rare a quality!) subtlety restrains eagerness. Her 
style has the most unexpected and extraordinary 
turns ; and however diffuse may be the arrangement 
of her sentences, they always have an underlying 
fund of wit and judgment." Count Hector de La 
Ferri^re, who is now preparing the collection in 
which Catherine's unpublished correspondence is to 
appear, may be sure in advance of the interest with 
which so curious a publication will be received. 
All the intellectual vigor of this ''stateswoman " 
will be made evident by it. 

I think I see her in her Louvre, living by her 
intelligence, her head, far more than by her heart, 
never losing sight of her plans and ideas, pursuing 
her ends by the most crooked paths, displaying in 
all circumstances the resources of an adroit and 
pliant character. " At table, and while walking, she 
is constantly conversing with some one on affairs. 
Her mind is bent, not merely on political matters, 
but on so many others that I do not know how she 



218 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



can endure and go through so much.''^ Notwith- 
standing all her preoccupations, she still finds time 
to think of letters and the arts. She makes Amyot 
preceptor to Charles IX., takes pleasure in Mon- 
taigne's conversation, and, in 1564, begins the erec- 
tion of the Tuileries after the plans of Jean BuUant 
and Philibert Delorme. 

Calm, smiling, happy, apparently at least, amidst 
the gravest perils and most horrible tragedies, I 
behold her feared by her children, held in great 
consideration even by her enemies, pleasing even 
the most rebellious by the courtesy of her manners 
and the sweetness of her words, overwhelming with 
attentions every one likely to be of use to her, 
writing to the Calvinist leader, the Prince of Conde 
himself, when she needed his influence to counter- 
balance that of the Guises : 

"Cousin, remember to guard the children, the 
mother, and the realm; I thank you for what you 
are doing for me; if I die, I will instruct my son 
to requite you for it." Experience has ended by 
giving her an imperturbable calmness. Having 
come to despise humanity, she has arrived at in- 
difference in her judgments on her contemporaries. 
To her, more than to any other personage, may be 
applied that line of a great poet : — 



" 2 



" Sans haine, sans amour, tu vivais pour penser. 

1 Despatch of the Venetian ambassador, Sigismond Cavalli. 

2 Without hate, without love, thou livest to think. 



AND HEB CONTEMPOBARIES 219 

To reign, is what one should say. To rule is 
Catherine's joy. "All her actions," says the Vene- 
tian ambassador, Sigismund Cavalli, "are founded 
on that invincible passion which, even during her 
husband's lifetime, was recognized in her, — the 
passion for domineering; un affetto di signoreggiare.^'' 
She yields to this lust for power, but without con- 
ceit, without arrogance, and with a sort of good- 
nature. Amiable, attractive, and exquisitely polite, 
she takes pains to make herself agreeable to all who 
approach her. She never likes to displease the 
person whom she speaks with. "But it imports 
those who treat with her to proceed with extreme 
circumspection, for she has a singular mastery over 
her speech. If she chooses, she will give a response 
which, though apparently determinate and definitive, 
is, nevertheless, inconclusive."^ Her tact and her 
memory, qualities so useful to sovereigns, being 
extremely good, she always appears keenly inter- 
ested in the persons surrounding her. They know 
her to be false, wily, capable of great treachery, and 
yet those who talk with her are nearly always 
enchanted. Her conversation is by turns jovial and 
instructive. She is conversant, not merely with 
French affairs, but with those of all other kingdoms 
and European states. 

Mistress of herself, she has the great art of self- 
control. If she is dissatisfied with one of her officials 

1 Despatch of Sigismund Cavalli. 



220 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 

or attendants, she expresses her displeasure in affec- 
tionate terms. "When she calls any one 'my 
friend,'" says Brant5me, "it is either because she 
thinks him a fool, or is angry; so true is this, that 
she had a noble servant named M. de Bois-Fevrier, 
who said as much when she called him 'my friend ': 
'Ah! Madame, I would like it better if you called 
me your enemy, for it amounts to saying that I am 
a fool, or that you are angry with me, for I have 
known your disposition this long while.' " 

Nothing affects Catherine less than the pamphlets 
written against her. When there is any wit in the 
satire she says : " Oh ! oh ! here are people very well 
up in our affairs." If the libel is badly done: 
"These are gossips and dunces!" she exclaims. 
Doubtless, she remembers her illustrious ancestor, 
Lorenzo the Magnificent, who was accustomed to 
repeat concerning the pamphleteers: "We do what 
we like, let them say what they please." 

One day, while talking with the King of Navarre 
in a lower room, she hears two soldiers, who do 
not suppose her so near, singing insulting songs 
about her, while roasting a goose beneath the win- 
dow. The King of Navarre wished to go down 
and punish them. "Let them alone," says Cathe- 
rine ; "there is no cause for anger, and that is not 
our game." Then, showing herself to the sol- 
diers: "What has your Queen done to you?" says 
she. "She is the cause why you are roasting the 
goose." 



ANB HER CONTEMPORARIES 221 

Up to the fatal moment when the Saint Bartholo- 
mew Massacre spotted her black robe with an inefface- 
able stain of blood, she was much oftener accused of 
moderation and mildness than of violence and cruelty. 
The parties reproached her with being too conciliat- 
ing, and with wishing to pacify everybody. It was 
by means of the beautiful girls in her train, her 
flying squadron as they were called, that she attacked 
and vanquished her harshest enemies. She wanted 
to blunt hatreds by pleasures, to change shouts of 
rage into voluptuous chants; and this woman, des- 
tined a few years later to wear a sinister aspect, 
never appeared, during the childhood of Charles 
TX., but with a smile on her lips and the olive- 
branch in her hand. 



VIII 

ELISABETH OF FRANCE, WIFE OF PHILIP H. 

CHARLES IX. entered his fourteenth year June 
27, 1563. August 17, Catherine and Chancellor 
L'HSpital conducted him to the parliament of Rouen 
to hold a bed of justice. The young King, in a child- 
ish voice, pronounced a little discourse in which he 
was made to declare that having attained the age of 
majority, he would not permit any one to disobey 
him. 

Soon afterwards, accompanied by all his court, he 
passed through all the southern provinces of the 
kingdom. It was Catherine's notion that this jour- 
ney, which occupied two years, would increase the 
prestige of royal authority, and contribute to the 
prevalence of conciliatory ideas. In June, 1565, 
Charles IX. halted at Bayonne, whither his sister 
Elisabeth, wife of Philip II., went to join him 
under the care of the Duke of Alva. Nearly three 
weeks were spent in balls, jousts, and banquetings. 
The court of France made a parade of unbridled 
luxury in order to disguise from the Spaniards the 
sorry condition of the national finances. The novel- 
ties of the day, Spanish pastorals, the idyls of Boscan 

222 




ELISABETH OF FRANCE 



CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 223 

and Montemayor, imitated by Ronsard, charmed these 
august personages. There was nothing but inter- 
ludes, ballets, and allegories. Thus, as M. Michelet 
has said, the chants of nymphs and shepherdesses 
covered the whispered conversations between Cathe- 
rine and the famous minister of the vengeance of 
Philip II. If Protestant writers may be believed, 
he counselled at this period the massacre accom- 
plished seven years later on. Davila relates what 
the Duke might have said then to Catherine de' 
Medici: "Nothing is more pernicious than to permit 
peoples to live according to their consciences, and 
thus allow as many varieties of religion to be in- 
troduced into a state as there are caprices in the 
heads of men. Controversies on the faith have al- 
ways served as pretexts for the discontented. We 
must deprive them of this pretext, and without spar- 
ing either sword or fire, extirpate the evil to its very 
roots." 

People long remained convinced that a strict 
alliance was at this time concluded between France 
and Spain, and that the Duke of Alva found means 
to persuade Catherine that a Sicilian Vespers had 
become indispensable in dealing with the Huguenots. 
But things did not take place in this way, and it is 
now averred that the Queen-mother, far from accept- 
ing the counsels of the celebrated Spanish minister, 
was not yet inclined to give up the see-saw policy 
which was her preference. The despatches addressed 
to Philip II. by the Duke of Alva are known at pres- 



224 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

ent, and it is plain from them that the Duke failed 
in all his attempts, whether to obtain the dismissal 
of the Chancellor de L'H6pital, or to have the 
preachers suppressed who were authorized by the 
Edict of Amboise in the provinces bordering on 
Spain. Nothing but vague protestations of friend- 
ship could be obtained in either case. The Duke of 
Alva found Catherine " more than cold for the holy 
religion," in spite of the "lofty energy and consum- 
mate prudence " employed by Queen Elisabeth to 
induce her mother to associate herself more intimately 
with the Spanish policy. No definite resolution was 
taken. "The Catholic Queen, my daughter," wrote 
Catherine to Constable de Montmorency, "left us 
July 3 ; the King, my son, took her back to the same 
place where he had received her, which is on the bank 
of the river. We have talked of nothing during our 
meeting but caresses, entertainments of good cheer, 
and, in general terms, of the desire felt by each for 
the continuance of the good friendship between their 
Majesties and the preservation of peace between their 
subjects, the principal cause and occasion of the said 
meeting being simply to have the consolation of 
seeing the said Queen, my daughter." 

During the whole time of her stay at Bayonne, the 
Queen of Spain, who was young and charming, had 
testified a lively pleasure at finding herself once 
more among her compatriots. "She showed herself 
neither more nor less familiar with the ladies and 
young girls of the court than when she was a girl, 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 225 

and inquired very particularly about those who were 
either absent, or married, or newly arrived since her 
departure. She did the same with the gentlemen, 
asking those Avho had been there who the others were, 
and often saying: 'He or she were at court in my 
time, I knew them well; these others were not, and 
I desire to know them.' In a word, she contented 
everybody." ^ 

Born in 1545, Elisabeth of France, Queen of Spain, 
had just turned twenty. She had been married for 
five years and a half to Philip II., whose gloomy and 
taciturn disposition was in contrast with the grace 
and amiability of his young companion. It is related 
that at the close of the year 1559, when she first 
set foot on Spanish soil, Elisabeth was received by 
Cardinal Mendoza who, in a harsh voice, addressed 
her in these words from Psalm xliv. : '•' Audi^ filia^ 
et vide^ et inclma aurem tuam ohliviscere popuhim et 
domum patris tui.^'' "Listen, my daughter, and in- 
cline thine ear: forget thy people and thy father's 
house." 

The Bishop of Burgos went on with the succeed- 
ing verse : " And the King shall desire thy beauty, 
because he is thy lord and master." ''^ Et concupiscet 
rex decor em tuam^ quoniam ipse est dominus tuus.^^ 
Elisabeth had at first been intended for Don Carlos, 
the son of Philip II. But, as BrantSme puts it, the 
King "who had just become a widower by the decease 

1 Brantome, Dames iUustres. 



226 CATHERINE I)E' MEDICI 

of the Queen of England, his wife, having seen the 
portrait of Madame Elisabeth and finding her very 
beautiful and much to his taste, cut the grass under 
his son's feet and took her for himself, beginning all 
charity at home. Afterwards, according to what I 
have heard from a reliable quarter, the said Carlos, 
having seen her, became so much in love with her, 
and so full of jealousy toward his father, that it lasted 
all his life, and was so vexed with him for having 
despoiled him of his beautiful prey that he never 
loved him." 

The marriage of Philip 11. and Elisabeth had been 
celebrated January 31, 1560, in the palace of the 
Duke de I'lnfantado, and Don Carlos, though suffer- 
ing from an attack of fever, had been one of his 
father's witnesses at the ceremony. In the excellent 
work^ he has devoted to the hero of Schiller's drama, 
M. de Moiiy has treated as fabulous the mutual 
inclination attributed by many historians to the 
Queen and her step-son. He says on this subject: 
" As to writers who amuse themselves by describing 
tlie emotions of Don Carlos and the Queen on this 
solemn day, and the sudden passion they experi- 
enced for each other, they have forgotten, doubtless, 
to adduce any proofs for such a story, and also the 
age of the prince, who was hardly more than four- 
teen, and who, sick, unsightly by nature, and still a 
child physically and morally, could evidently neither 
feel love nor inspire it." 

1 Don Carlos et Philij^pe IL, by Charles de Moiiy. 



AND HER CONTEMPOHARIES 227 



Contrar}^ to the opinion of Brant6me, M. de Moiiy 
does not believe that Don Carlos ever had what is 
called a passion for his step-mother, and he explains 
in this way the very special character of the Infant's 
sentiment : " Don Carlos beheld in Elisabeth a com- 
passionate friend, who was attached to him precisely 
on account of his infirmities and weakness, and who.so 
feminine susceptibility, moved at sight of him hy 
affectionate pity, had a more penetrating accent than 
that of the gentlest m^an, and found within itself 
the secret of an exquisite delicacy. He who had 
never known a mother's love, was allured by the 
goodness of a woman who united in herself the majesty 
and rank of a mother with the youth and grace of a 
sister. He consecrated to her one of those strange 
sentiments which exceptional situations give birth 
to in the heart of man, a sentiment at once filial and 
fraternal, austere and tender, to which was added 
that infinite gratitude of weaklings for those who 
take an interest in their sufferings." Whatever 
may have been the character of the affection of Don 
Carlos for Elisabeth, it is incontestable that the con- 
duct of the Queen was above all suspicion. 

Few sovereigns have left in Spain so touching' a 
renown. " When she went to churches, monasteries, 
and gardens, there was such a great press to see her, 
and such a great crowd and throng of people that one 
could not turn round amongst the rabble, and very 
happy was he or she who could say in the evening : 
'I saw the Queen.' " They called her the Queen of 



228 CATHERINE BE' MEBICI 



Bounty, Isabel de paz y bondad. Whenever she fell 
ill all her subjects were in prayers and tears. She 
was sincerely attached to her new country. "Her 
Spanish," says BrantSme, "was as attractive as it 
could possibly be, and she learned it in three or four 
months that she was there." People were pleased 
with the rapidity with which she adapted herself to 
the manners and customs of her realm. "Subjected 
to an often painful obedience, she performed her 
duties without a murmur ; accustomed to the brilliant 
festivities of the court of the Valois, to the cheerful 
aspect of that 'pleasant life,' so dear to Mary Stuart's 
memory, she knew, and that without showing regret, 
how to inure herself to the severe discipline of the 
palace of Philip 11."^ 

Her mother, Catherine cle' Medici, would like to 
have learned from her the secrets of Spanish policy; 
but the young Queen refused such a r61e and an- 
swered her in respectful but evasive terms. Every 
one rendered homage to her physical and moral quali- 
ties. " The nobles could not look at her," says Bran- 
t8me once more, "lest they should be smitten, and 
so awaken the King's jealousy and consequently risk 
their lives. It was the same with churchmen, through 
fear of temptation." Although sincerely devoted to 
Spain, she remembered France with affection. " The 
French were received by her, on their arrival in Spain, 
with a countenance so benign, that from the greatest 

1 M. de Moiiy, Don Carlos et Philippe 11. 



AJ^D HER CONTEMPOBATilES 229 

to the least none ever left her without feeline him- 
self much honored and well contented." She had 
never been willing to discontinue French, " but al- 
ways read it in the best books that could be had from 
France." She opened her mother's letters with emo- 
tion and even a sort of fear, for "she so honored and 
respected her, that never did she receive letters from 
her without trembling and alarm." Brantome adds- 
with feeling: "Behold the goodness of this princess 
and her virtue of honoring and fearing (being so 
great) the Queen,, her mother. Alas ! the Christian 
[)roverb was not well kept in her regard, that he who 
would live many years must honor his father and 
mother, since, doing all this, she died in the most 
fair and pleasant springtime of her youth." 

A tragic legend has been connected with Elisa- 
beth's memory. Her contemporaries suspected 
Philip II. of having poisoned her, and posterity has 
been affected by this mysterious and terrible accusa- 
tion. Brantome timidly re-eclioes it. It is related, 
he says, that a "Jesuit, a very worthy man, speak- 
ing in his sermon one day of Queen Elisabeth, let slip 
a remark that it had been very wickedly done to cause 
her death and so innocently, for which he was ban- 
ished to the farthest Spanish Indies. This is very 
true, so people say. There are still other conject- 
ures about which one must be silent. But, at all 
events, she was the best princess of her time." The 
latest investigations of historical criticism exonerate 
Philip II. from the crime imputed to him, and every- 



230 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

thing leads to the belief that Elisabeth died a natural 
death. M. Gachard and M. de Moiiy, in their 
works on Don Carlos, have arrived at the same con- 
clusions. Everything goes to prove that the pre- 
tended passion of the Infant for his step-mother had 
no influence whatever on the tragic end of that prince. 
The Spaniards saw nothing but what was natural and 
legitimate in the respectful sympathy testified by 
Don Carlos for his step-mother. No one sought to 
incriminate this affection. The French ambassador 
at Philip's court expressed himself concerning it 
with perfect confidence in his letters to Catherine de' 
Medici. The Infant was not afraid of giving little 
presents to the Queen with which she liked to adorn 
herself, and in the Spanish court, severe and rigid 
though it was, not one voice was raised to accuse 
Elisabeth. 

We do not believe, then, that the daughter of 
Catherine de' Medici should be involved in the terri- 
ble scenes which filled the imprisonment and death- 
agony of Don Carlos with horror. Sick in soul and 
body, the heir of so many crowns spent a few years 
in the greatest evils that can be inflicted on a man. 
He was, as has been said so well, a poor, pale prince, 
weakly, trembling, one of those historic figures be- 
fore which thoughtful posterity hesitates between 
disdain and pity. 

Although mad, he was interesting, because he had 
suffered so much. He died, at the age of twenty- 
three, July 24, 1568. He had been a prisoner since 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 231 

January 18, and death was his deliverance. Elisa- 
beth, while having no love for the Infant, did not 
behold this gloomy catastrophe unmoved. When he 
was dead, Don Carlos, in accordance with a desire 
lie had expressed, was dressed in a Franciscan habit, 
and the cowl of a Dominican. At the door of the 
palace his body was received by Spanish grandees, 
and by them carried to the church. The King who, 
according to etiquette, could not be present at the 
funeral service, watched from his window the depart- 
ure of the lugubrious procession. 

The year 1568, which began so inauspiciously for 
the family of Philip II., was to end in a manner not 
less lamentable. Queen Elisabeth descended into 
the tomb two months and a half later than Don 
Carlos. She died in childbed, October 3. The 
French ambassador, Fourquevaulx, has described 
her last moments in a letter expressive of real sor- 
row: "The King her husband," he wrote to Charles 
IX. and Catherine de' Medici, "had visited her this 
morning before daj^break, to whom the said lady, 
speaking like a very wise and Christian princess, and 
bidding him farewell forever in this life, in language 
which no queen ever spoke with better sense or more 
sanely, mentioned to him his daughters, the friend- 
ship of your Majesties, the peace of her realms and 
her ladies, with other words worthy of admiration, 
and fitting to pierce the heart of a good husband, such 
as was the said lord King, who replied with the like 
constancy, being unable to believe she was so near 



232 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

her end, and granted all her requests and demands. 
Then he withdrew to his chamber, very much afflicted 
and sorrowful." Elisabeth wished to see for the last 
time the old servitor of her grandfather, Francis I., 
her father, Henry II., and her brothers, Francis II. 
and Charles IX. 

"Monsieur Fourquevaulx," she said to him Ij'ing 
on her deathbed, " you see me in the way to depart 
presently from this miserable world to go to another 
Kingdom more agreeable, and I hope to possess near 
my God the glory that shall have no end. ... I beg 
you to say to the Queen, my mother, and the King, 
my brother, that I supplicate them to take my death 
patiently. I will pray for them and for my brothers 
that God will guard and long maintain them in His 
most holy protection." And, as Fourquevaulx tried 
to reassure her by saying that she exaggerated the 
gravity of her illness, and that she was not going to 
die: "No, no. Monsieur the Ambassador," she re- 
plied in a voice enfeebled by the last sufferings, " I 
would much rather go to see what I hope and believe 
I presently shall see." An hour afterward she 
expired, "so easily," adds Fourquevaulx, "that we 
should not have known the moment when she yielded 
up her spirit, but that she opened her two clear and 
lustrous eyes, and it seemed to me as if they were 
still commanding somewhat from me, for they were 
turned straight upon me. We presently withdrew, 
leaving the whole palace in tears." 

Thus died, at the age of twenty-four, this beautiful 



AND IlEE CONTEMPORARIES 233 

Queen, in whose destiny there is something so melan- 
choly and so sweet. She had shed a soft lustre over 
the gloomy palaces of her pitiless and fanatical hus- 
band. When this lustre was extinguished, night fell 
again on all surrounding Philip II. The angel of 
mercy was no longer there to pacify the savage char- 
racter of the sovereign who has been called the Demon 
of the South. Spanish poets consecrated to the 
memory of the beautiful sovereign, who had passed 
from morning to evening, plaintive elegies, bearing 
the imprint of sorrow and tears. " O Death inexo- 
rable," cries one of them, Pedro Lainez, "thou 
smitest the feeble and the strong, the ignorant and 
the wise, the haughty king and the obscure pauper, 
and thy hand makes them equal in that hour su- 
preme. . . . Charming Queen, most perfect creature 
that has ever been encountered in these regions which 
the sun illumines and the ocean laves, before death 
came to strike thee, thy tender youth seemed to assure 
thee long years of happy life, and we have all ad- 
mired thy beauty like that of the lily and the rose." 
Above the tombs of Don Carlos and of Elisabeth, 
opened so soon after one another, to engulf such 
3^outh, such grandeur and such hope, a sombre 
romance has been reared. Men have sought to make 
it believed that the two victims of a destiny so fatal 
had been united by love before becoming so by death, 
and that Philip II., inflexible in his vengeance, was 
the executioner of his wife after having been that of 
his son. There are already gloomy sides enough in 



234 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 



the life of the King, dear to inquisitors, to dispense 
one from blackening still further his appalling figure. 
We believe, with M. de Moiiy, that Queen Elisabeth 
has her sympathetic poetry, and needs not the ficti- 
tious prestige that belongs to ardent and persecuted 
passions. "She has the charm of women who die 
young after a gloomy life, of mothers whom their 
children have not known, of queens who have wel- 
comed human grandeurs and death with the same 
resigned and melancholy smile. She was, during 
her short life, the object of that respectful admiration 
which the heart of peoples does not squander, and 
which flattery does not imitate." The destiny of 
these young women, so promptly harvested by death, 
vividly impresses the soul and recalls the lessons of 
Bossuet in presence of the catafalque of the Duchess 
of Orleans. Whoever gives ear to the past hears 
always a plaintive voice issuing from the depths of 
history. Nothing is more striking than the contrast 
between a palace and a sepulchre. The dead who 
wore a crown come from their tombs to say to us : 
^^ Memento^ homo, quia pulvis es.^^ 



IX 



THE CHILDHOOD OF MARGUERITE DE VALOIS 

CATHERINE DE' MEDICI was afflicted by 
the death of her daughter, the Queen of Spain. 
But nothing dries tears so quickly as political anxi- 
eties. Carried away by the whirlpool of affairs, by 
the ardor of the strife, Catherine had no time to give 
to sorrow. The successes she obtained at this period 
diverted her from her grief. Death was disembar- 
rassing her by degrees of the principal rivals she had 
met with in her path : Constable Montmorency was 
slain at the battle of Saint-Denis, and the Prince of 
Conde at the battle of Jarnac. Always on the go, 
always at the breach, this untiring woman discour- 
aged nobody, and made no definite break with any 
party. She had not abandoned her idea of pacifying 
all, and although Philip II. advised her to prosecute 
to the utmost the war against the Protestants, she 
treated with the vanquished of Jarnac and Mont- 
contour, and had Charles IX. sign the edict of Saint- 
Germain, which was more favorable to their cause 
than if they had been the victors (August 8, 1572). 
They were granted admission to all employments, the 
exercise of Calvinistic worship in two cities of every 

235 



236 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

province, and in all those where it was already estab- 
lished, besides four places of safety during two years, 
Rochelle, Montauban, Cognac, and Chartres. 

It has been often said that this arrangement was 
only a snare laid for the Huguenots by the Queen- 
mother. We do not believe it. We think, with M. 
Lavallee, that "it was another effort to make the 
two religions live together, to give some repose to 
exhausted France, possibly to attempt to subdue or 
render more pliable during the peace the Calvinists, 
who were indomitable in spite of their defeats." 
Thereupon all seemed to quiet down. There were 
no more riots, no more combats. People attended 
either Mass or preaching without fear. Catherine 
triumphed. "A reign of twelve years since her 
husband's death had inspired her with great confi- 
dence in herself ; she was no longer watched by those 
fevorites, ministers, and generals whom it had been 
necessary for her to treat with circumspection ; she 
was reigning, feared and obeyed by her sons whom 
she continued, however, to oppose to each other; for 
the spirit of intrigue had not abandoned her on her 
rise to power; on the contrary, the dissimulation 
to which she had accustomed herself when she had 
everything to fear had become to her the science of 
the throne and of supreme ability."^ 

It is curious to study the interior of the royal 
family at this epoch. Charles IX. is twenty years 

1 Sismondi, Histoire des Franqais. 



ANB HER CONTEMPORARIES 237 

old, the Duke of Anjou eighteen, the Duke of 
Alen9on sixteen. Their sister Marguerite (Queen 
Margot) is seventeen. Violent jealousies disturb 
them. Charles IX. begrudges the Duke of Anjou, 
the future Henry III., the affection shown him by 
their mother, and the easy triumphs she has let him 
score. The Duke of Alen^on, already treacherous 
and uneasy, has the ambition which so often tor- 
ments the younger sons of illustrious families. 
Catherine applies in her family the same principles 
as in government: she spies, she intrigues, she rules 
by petty means. She mistrusts Charles IX., who 
is violent and irascible even to frenzy, and reflects 
with terror that he may turn against her the lessons 
she has given him. An instant would suffice to 
break the chains so skilfully forged. There are 
hours when the mother and son, who watch each 
other, remind one of Agrippina and Nero. 

It is at this moment that Brantome's ideal. Mar- 
guerite of Valois, begins to play a part. She ^^as 
born May 14, 1553. Her education, like that of her 
sisters, was conducted by a woman eulogized by the 
writings of the time, Madame de Curton. "To 
speak of the beauty of this rare princess, I think that 
all that are, or will be, or ever have been, near hers, 
are ugly, or are not beauties, for the brightness of 
hers so burns the wings of all others in the world, 
that they neither dare nor can fly or appear around 
it."^ To vivid coloring, hair of the most beautiful 

1 Brantome, Damps iUnstrcs. 



238 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

black, a soft and tender glance, the figure of a nymph, 
and the gait of a queen, she unites the graces of the 
mind, gaiety of character, and the charms of imagi- 
nation. The bad examples she has before her eyes 
give an evil turn to her finest qualities. 

The memoirs she has left give us the most curious 
details concerning the court of the Valois. Mar- 
guerite relates that in her childhood she suffered a 
real persecution at the hands of her brother the Duke 
of Anjou, because she was too good a Catholic. The 
prince who, some years later, was to be the chief 
instigator of the Saint Bartholomew massacre, had 
then an evident inclination for the reformed religion. 
"My brother of Anjou,'* says Marguerite, "had been 
unable to escape the impression of that wretched 
Huguenoterie. He was incessantly calling on me to 
change my religion, often throwing my Hours into 
the fire, and giving me Huguenot psalms and prayers 
instead, forcing me to take them, the which, as soon 
as I had, I gave to Madame de Curton, my governess, 
whom God gave me the grace to keep Catholic, and 
who often conducted me to the house of that good 
man. Cardinal de Tournon, who advised and 
strengthened me to suffer all things to maintain my 
religion, and gave me more Hours and rosaries to 
replace those which my brother of Anjou had burned. " 
But the young prince returned to the charge, " and 
his other particular friends who had undertaken to 
ruin me," adds Marguerite, "finding the rosaries 
again, insulted me, saying this was childishness and 



AND HER CONTEMPORABIES 239 



folly; that it was plain I had no understanding, 
because all who had any intelligence, no matter 
what their age or sex, had withdrawn from the abuses 
of this bigotry." But the little prince threatened 
his sister in vain, and she thus ends her story : " I 
answered such threats, bursting into tears, the age of 
seven or eight years which I had then reached being 
tender enough, that he might beat me or kill me if 
he liked, but that I would suffer everything rather 
than damn myself." 

A few years later, the Duke of Anjou, then one of 
the props of the Catholic cause, wished to make a 
confidant and an ally of Marguerite. He was eigh- 
teen years old and had just gained the battle of 
Jarnac. His mother had gone to the castle of Plessis- 
lez-Tours to congratulate him, and he was on the 
point of returning to the army when he drew his 
sister aside into one of the alleys of the park, and 
said to her: "Sister, the nurture we have had in 
common does not oblige us to love each other more 
than does our new relationship. So you may have 
understood, that, among all your brothers, I have 
ahvays been more inclined to wish you well than 
any other, and I have recognized, also, that your 
nature disposes you to return the same friendship. 
Until now we have been naturally led to this with- 
out any design of ours, and without this union being 
of any use to us except the mere pleasure of con- 
versing together. That was well enough in our 
childhood, but now it is no longer the time to live 



240 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 

like children. You see the great and lofty positions 
to which God has called me, and to which I have 
been raised by the Queen, our good mother. You 
ought to know, that as you are the one thing in the 
world which I most love and cherish, I shall never 
have any grandeurs or goods in which you do not 
participate." 

After this insinuating preamble, the Duke of 
Anjou frankly requested his sister's aid. " I know 
you have enough intelligence and judgment," said 
he, " to be of use to me with the Queen, our mother, 
in maintaining my present fortune. Now, the chief 
means for this is to remain in her good graces. I am 
afraid absence may injure me, and yet the war and 
my appointments constrain to be almost always at 
a distance. Meanwhile, the King, my brother, is 
always near her, and flatters and humors her in every- 
thing. ... I find it is necessary for me to have some 
very faithful persons near the Queen, my mother, 
who will be on my side. I know none so suitable 
as you, whom I consider as my second self." The 
young prince concluded by advising his sister to be 
as much as possible with Catherine, who would 
initiate her into affairs, and no longer treat her as a 
child. "It will be a great happiness to you," said 
he, " to be loved by her. You will do much for your- 
self and for me, and I shall esteem you as, after God, 
the preserver of my good fortune." 

Marguerite describes very well the astonishment 
and joy caused her by such overtures. The sixteen- 



AND IIEE CONTEMPORARIES 241 

year-old girl then was about to become a political 
woman. "This language was very new to me," she 
sa^^s, "who had thus far lived without purpose, 
thinking of nothing but dancing and going to the 
chase, not having even the curiosity to dress myself, 
or to appear beautiful, since I was not yet old 
enough for that ambition, and having been 'brouglit 
up with such constraint toward the Queen, my 
mother, that I not merely did not dare to speak to 
her, but when she looked at me I was paralyzed with 
fear lest I had done something to displease her." 

At the first moment, the young princess was 
frightened by the part her brother proposed to her. 
"I was very near replying," she says, "like Moses 
to God, in the vision of the burning bush, 'Who am 
I ? Send whom Thou oughtest to send. ' However, 
finding in myself what I had not supposed to be 
there, powers hitherto unknown to me, excited by 
the meaning of these words, although I had been 
born with plenty of courage, on inwardly recovering 
from this first astonishment these words pleased me, 
and, in an instant, I seemed to be transformed, and 
to become something more than I had ever been 
before." 

Marguerite promised her brother her assistance, 
and that very evening, with a sort of rapture, she 
heard her mother saying to her in an affectionate 
tone: "Your brother has reported to me the dis- 
course you have had together, and he does not con- 
sider you a child. Hence I will not do so either. It 



242 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

will be a great pleasure to me to talk with you as I do 
with your brother." "These words," adds Margue- 
rite, " made my soul feel what it had never felt before, 
— a satisfaction so unmeasured that all the satis- 
factions I had had until then seemed to me nothing 
but symbols of this boon ; I looked back scornfully 
at the exercises of my childhood, dancing, the chase, 
and companies of my own age, and despised them as 
things too vain and foolish. I obeyed this agreeable 
command, and never missed a single day to be among 
the first at her levee and the last at her couchee. 
She did me the honor to talk with me sometimes for 
two or three hours, and God gave me the grace to 
make her so satisfied with me that she could not 
sufficiently congratulate herself on it with her 
women." 

Marguerite's story is characteristic. She makes 
evident the sentiment of respectful fear awakened 
by Catherine de' Medici, as well as the charm she 
exercised on all around her. Doubtless Marguerite 
loved her mother, " that good mother, " she says, " who 
lived only for her children, ready to abandon her life 
at any hour to preserve theirs and their estate." She 
loved her, but yet she feared her more. 

The pact concluded between the brother and sister 
was not of long duration. Influenced by his favor- 
ite, Du Guast, the Duke of Anjou became at the end 
of some months Marguerite's irreconcilable enemy. 
The cause of this great hatred was the inclination 
his sister suddenly experienced for the Duke of 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 259 



authors of various writings against the court of 
Charles IX., would not have failed to denounce the 
crime if they had discovered or suspected the least 
trace of poison." ^ 

Jeanne d'Albret died with great courage, as she 
had lived. Not a complaint, not a murmur escaped 
her in the midst of cruel sufferings. Catherine de' 
Medici, who came to see her on her death-bed, was 
struck by this noble patience. A few hours before her 
agony, Jeanne dictated the provisions of her will. In 
it she recommended her son to remain faithful to the 
religion in which she had reared him, never to let 
himself be carried away by "the lures of voluptuous- 
ness and corruption," and to banish "atheists, flat- 
terers, and libertines." She begged him to take his 
sister Catherine under his protection and to be "after 
God, her father. " " I forbid my son, " she added, " ever 
to use severity towards his sister. I wish, on the 
contrary, that he should treat her with gentleness 
.and kindness; that, above all, he should have her 
brought up in Beam, and that she shall never leave 
there until she is old enough to be married to a prince 
of her own rank and religion, and whose morals shall 
be such that the spouses may live holily together in 
a good and holy marriage." 

The Protestants were in despair. Admiral Coligny 
wept for the valiant friend who had so often revived 



^ Catherine de Bourbon, soenr de Henri IV., by Mademoiselle 
the Countess of Armaillee. 1 vol. Didier. 



260 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

Huguenot courage. Clothed in a robe of white 
satin, embroidered with silver, and a royal mantle 
of violet velvet, Jeanne d'Albret's dead body was 
exposed on a funeral couch in a chamber hung with 
black. No candle was burned beside this couch. No 
voice intoned the prayers which the Catholic liturgy 
consecrates to the memory of the departed. The 
funeral obsequies were conducted with austere sim- 
plicity. The corpse was laid in a coffin without a 
blazon, without ornament, like the coffin of a pauper. 
Then it was taken to YendSme to be laid beside that 
of Antony of Bourbon. Navarre lost even the ashes 
of its queen. 

Thus died, at the age of forty-three, the intrepid 
woman who had mingled in the most terrible events, 
and had struggled against ill-fortune, with a sort 
of asperity, an indomitable vigor. Catherine de' 
Medici made a show of weeping for her. 



XI 

THE MARRIAGE OF MARGUERITE DE VALOIS 

HENRY of Navarre had decided to leave B^arn, 
and, turning toward Paris, he had just arrived 
at Chaunay in Poitou when he received news of his 
mother's death. It was like a thunderbolt to him. 
Seized by a violent fever, he thought at first of retrac- 
ing his steps ; but Coligny, who had been deceived 
by the false promises of the court, and thought that 
the marriage of the young prince would be the dawn 
of a new era, wrote letter after letter to induce him 
to continue his route. In spite of his sad misgiv- 
ings, the new King of Navarre yielded to the ad- 
miral's persuasions, and made his entry into Paris 
escorted by five hundred gentlemen who, like him- 
self, wore mourning. 

At the Louvre nothing was heard of but balls and 
masquerades. The young nobles, both Huguenot 
and Catholic, rivalling each other in courtesy, ele- 
gance, and gaiety, were enacting ballets together. 
Catherine de' Medici spent whole nights in organiz- 
ing festivities. The entire court was in a fever of 
luxury and pleasure. 

Coligny was delighted. The respect and affection 

261 



262 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

of Charles IX. moved him even to tears. He seemed 
to behold himself already at the head of a magnifi- 
cent army, powerful and victorious. The regions of 
Flanders, the only Burgundian fiefs which had not as 
yet returned to the French crown, were at last to be 
subdued; the courage of Protestants would give the 
King these fine provinces whose restoration had been 
the traditional ambition of his ancestors. The ad- 
miral felt his very heart pierced by keen enthusiasm 
at the idea that his military talents would henceforth 
be employed not in civil war but on a theatre worthy 
of him. As he looked at the standards of Jarnac 
and Montcontour hanging from the arches of Notre- 
Dame, he exclaimed: "Those are mournful trophies; 
but they will soon give place to others more agreea- 
ble for us to contemplate." The King had declared 
that the happiest day of his life was that in which he 
had seen the tranquillity of his realm assured by the 
admiral's arrival. 

As for Henry of Navarre, he was still hesitating 
on what was as yet new ground to him; profoundly 
afflicted by his mother's recent death, he thought 
incessantly, and with painful regret, of that elect 
woman in whom he had found a counsellor, protec- 
tor, and friend from his tenderest infancy. He had 
but meagre sympathy for his betrothed. The young 
girl, brought up like a coquette, amidst all the re- 
finements of a subtle elegance, was unsuitable for the 
mountain prince who was a child of nature. Gay, 
witty, jovial, skilled in bodily exercises, but little 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 263 

versed in the fine language of the brilliant court cav- 
aliers, the Bearnais found it troublesome to put off 
his simple costume, and put on a doublet of cloth-of- 
silver and a silken mantle. He retained the large 
felt hat of the Calvinists. 

Meanwhile Charles IX. was hastening his sister's 
marriage with feverish impatience. It is pretended 
that, exasperated because the dispensations of Rome 
were delayed, he cried: "I am not a Huguenot, but 
neither am I a dunce, and if the Pope acts too much 
like a fool, I shall take Margot by the hand and have 
her married in open sermon ! " ^ 

On Sunday, August 17, 1572, Cardinal Bourbon 
affianced Henry of Navarre to Marguerite of France. 
After a grand supper, followed by dancing, the prin- 
cess was led in great triumph to the episcopal palace, 
where she slept. The marriage took place next day 
at Notre-Dame. A magnificent amphitheatre, with 
side galleries, one of which, passing through the 
nave, led to the choir, and the other to the bishop's 
palace, had been erected in front of the church. The 
King of Navarre, escorted by the Dukes of Anjou 
and AleuQon, the King's brothers, the Prince of 
Cond^, and the Marquis of Conti, the Dukes of 
Montpensier, Guise, Aumale, and Nevers, the mar- 
shals. Admiral Coligny, and many nobles belonging 
to both religions, repaired to the bishop's palace. 
A splendid August sun made the gildings and the 



En plein prec he. The preche signified a Protestant sermon. 



264 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

weapons glitter. The princes "wore uniform coats 
of pale yellow satin, covered with raised embroideries, 
and enriched with pearls and precious stones. It 
was observed that, with the exception of the bride- 
groom, all the Protestants affected very simple dress, 
while the Catholic nobles displayed the greatest 
ostentation. "1 The Venetian ambassador, Giovanni 
Michieli, was dazzled by the quantity of precious 
stones exhibited. He says, "the cap, the poniard, 
and the raiment of the King represented five or six 
hundred thousand ecus. Monsieur d'Anjou, among 
other jewels on his cap, had thirty-two pearls of 
twelve carats, famous pearls bought for the occasion 
at Gonella at a cost of twenty-three thousand golden 
^cus. More than a hundred and twenty ladies were 
brilliant in the most splendid stuffs, brocade, cloth- 
of-gold, velvet brocaded in gold and laced with 
silver." 

The bride appeared conducted by the King, her 
brother. She has herself described her splendid 
costume. She was " dressed royally, with the crown 
and couet of speckled ermine " (the couet was a piece 
of fur which, beginning below the breast, wound 
around the figure to the waist). She wore on her 
shoulders a large blue mantle, with a train four ells 
long, which was carried by three princesses. On 
arriving in front of the church the youthful spouses 
were married by Cardinal Bourbon according to a 

^ Histoire de Marguerite de Valois, par A. Mongey. 



AND HER CONTEMPORABIES 265 

particular formula agreed upon b}'' the two parties. 
"Marguerite, on being asked wlietlier she accepted 
the King of Navarre as her husband, replied not a 
single word ; this disquieting the Cardinal, he gave 
her a little push at the back of the head to make her 
give that sign of consent in lieu of speech. ... It 
was at this moment that the Duke of Guise, who had 
stretched up above the other nobles to watch Mar- 
guerite's face and eyes, received such a keen and 
threatening glance from Charles IX. that he nearly 
lost consciousness."^ The surrounding crowd was 
hostile, but made no murmur. Only, when the Mass 
began, and the Protestant gentlemen went to prome- 
nade in the cloister of Notre-Dame while it was 
being said, the Catholics looked angry. At the end 
of the ceremony, Henry of Navarre embraced his wife. 
They returned afterwards to the bishop's house, where 
a superb repast had been prepared, during which 
heralds-at-arms flung gold medals to the crowd, 
engraven with the initials of the married pair, inter- 
laced and surrounded with the motto : " Coiistricta hoc 
discordia v'mclo. This tie fetters discord." On other 
medals there was a lamb and a cross with the device : 
" Vohis aymuntio pacem. I announce peace to you." 
There was a ball at the Louvre in the evening. 
On silver rocks and gilded shells women appeared 
disguised as nymphs, naiads, and goddesses. The 
celebrated Etienne Leroy sang in his melodious voice. 

1 A. Mongey. 



266 ' CATHERINE BE' MEBICI 

All the pomps of mythology were brought into re- 
quisition, and the court poets had rivalled each other 
in their nuptial odes. 

The festivities were still more brilliant two days 
later. The Duke of Anjou, who directed it, had 
devised an allegorical entertainment whose truly 
infernal significance was not fully understood until 
several days afterward. In a hall of the Bourbon 
palace, neighboring the Louvre, a paradise had been 
constructed whose entrance was defended by the King 
and his two brothers, fully armed. On the opposite 
side was hell, " in which there were many devils and 
little imps making a racket and playing monkey 
tricks, and a great wheel, entirely surrounded by 
little bells, revolving in the said hell. Paradise and 
hell were divided by, a river in which there was a 
bark conducted by Charon. At one end of the hall 
were the Elysian fields, that is to saj^, a garden 
adorned with foliage and all sorts of flowers, and the 
empyrean heaven, which was a great wheel with the 
twelve signs of the zodiac, the seven planets, and 
-numberless little stars. . . . This wheel was in 
continual motion, and caused also the revolution of 
this garden in which were twelve richly accoutred 
nymphs. " ^ Several knights-errant led by the King of 
Navarre, presented themselves at the gate of Para- 
dise. But the three paladins, who guarded its en- 
trance (Charles IX. and his two brothers), repulsed 



1 3Iemoires cVEtat de France sous Charles IX. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 267 



them, sword in hand, and pushed them into Tartarus, 
where they were dragged away by devils and furies. 
Meanwhile the nymphs began to dance a ballet which 
lasted over an hour. The Protestant knights still 
remained in hell, and those of their corelio'ionists, 
who witnessed this strange spectacle, found the alle- 
gory by no means agreeable. At last a Mercury and 
a Cupid, borne by a fantastic animal, descended from 
heaven. The singer, Etienne Leroy, played the part 
of Mercury. He intoned a hymn in honor of the 
conciliation, and Charles IX. went to deliver the 
captives imprisoned in Tartarus. Afterwards there 
were fireworks, and the whole palace seemed to be in 
flames. 

Never had the King and the Queen-mother dis- 
played more gaiety. Admiral Coligny was wholly 
joyful, and ridiculed the alarms of the Huguenots 
who had seen an omen and a menace in this mytho- 
logical allegory. One of them, Lagoiran, thought 
it prudent to depart, and taking leave of the admiral, 
he said to him : " I am going away because of the 
good reception they are giving you, preferring to 
save myself with the fools rather than to perish with 
those who esteem themselves wise." 

The festivities ended on Thursday by a tourney in 
front of the Louvre, which was a real masquerade. 
On one side appeared Charles IX., his two brothers, 
and the Dukes of Guise and Aumale, disguised as 
amazons; on the other, the King of Navarre and 
several nobles of his suite, wearing turbans and 
Turkisli costumes of rich brocade. 



268 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

The next day (Friday, August 22, 1572), the fes- 
tivities were at last over, and the courtiers were rest- 
ing after so many pleasures, when a terrible piece of 
news began to circulate all of a sudden, and rekindled 
in an instant the flames that smouldered beneath the 
ashes. Admiral Coligny, just as he was quitting 
the Louvre on foot, walking slowly and reading a 
petition, had been struck by a musket-shot which 
took off the forefinger of his right hand. 

The Protestants accused the Duke of Guise, who 
had always professed his conviction that Coligny was 
his father's murderer. Suspicion also hovered about 
Catherine de' Medici, jealous of the influence exer- 
cised over her son by the Huguenots and their chief. 
When the crime was announced, Charles IX. was 
playing tennis with Teligny, the admiral's son-in- 
law, and the Duke of Guise. He furiously broke 
his racket, exclaiming: "Am I never to have any 
repose? " Then, after a hasty dinner, he went to the 
admiral's house, accompanied by the Duke of Anjou 
and the Queen-mother. "My father," said he, "the 
pain and the wound are yours; the insult and the 
outrage mine." He promised a striking vengeance, 
and showed the most affectionate interest toward the 
admiral. 

He offered the Calvinist nobles lodgings around 
their chief, invited the King of Navarre and the 
Prince of Conde to bring their friends to the Louvre 
to sleep, proposed to the Avounded man to come and 
install himself close to the royal chamber, in the 



AND HER CONTEMPORABIES 2G9 



apartments of his sister, the Duchess of Lorraine. 
Looking at the Guises with a "bad expression and 
worse words": "It is I who am attacked," said he. 
"It is all France," added Catherine de' Medici. 

In spite of the King's promises the Huguenots 
were not reassured. They organized a resistance in 
case the instigators of the murder were not punished. 
The admiral sent in all haste for six thousand troopers 
and ten thousand Swiss. Threatening shouts were 
uttered before the Guise mansion. The Catholics 
also repaired to arms. The markets, the trades, the 
confraternities, the monks, were all in agitation. 

As for Charles IX., he wavered between the most 
contradictory ideas, and as yet knew not what direc- 
tion his anger would take. Catherine was some- 
times an object of respect, sometimes of aversion to 
him, and he thought himself by turns protected and 
betrayed by her. His jealousy and suspicion in- 
cluded not only his mother, but his brothers, his 
ministers, and all the great nobles. There were still 
moments when Coligny seemed to him a loyal sub- 
ject, a great captain about to open to him magnifi- 
cent horizons of glory and conquest. At others he 
remembered the civil wars that had been directed by 
this famous rebel. 

During this time Catherine was trembling. There 
was a war to the death between her and the admiral, 
cloaked under the appearances of reciprocal courtesy. 
She told herself that if Coligny got the upper liand, 
he would throw on her the responsibility for his 



270 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

attempted assassination; that she would be in dis- 
grace, and, j^erhaps, even exiled in company with 
her favorite son, the Duke of Anjou. The King 
was escaping from her. She wanted to regain him. 
She sent to him Count de Retz, Chancellor Birague, 
Marshal de Tavannes, and the Duke of Nevers, 
who took every means to irritate the irascible mon- 
arch against Coligny and his adherents. They 
reminded him of that day at Meaux when he had 
nearly been abducted by the rebels, — a memory 
which made on his pride " the impression of a red-hot 
iron on a wound." They told him that if he, the 
King, were unwilling to put himself at the head of 
the Catholics, the Duke of Guise would become their 
supporter, their idol, possibly their chief; that, out- 
flanked simultaneously by the two opposing factions, 
the royal authority would be crushed and ruined; 
that the hour had come to end the plots and conspira- 
cies once for all ; that it was needful to make himself 
dreaded before making himself beloved. The young 
monarch hesitated still. 



XII 



CATHERINE DE' MEDICI AND THE SAINT BAR- 
THOLOMEW 

THE freshness of a beautiful August night 
enticed people to defer the hour of slumber. 
Some Protestants, who were late in returning home, 
had remarked a certain number of armed men, but 
had been told by them that they had been ordered for 
some new tournaments to be given the next da3\ 
All alarm had been dispelled. The Huguenots re- 
posed in peace. 

Apparently, the Louvre had never been more tran- 
quil. Catherine de' Medici, with her daughters, 
Madame Claude, Duchess of Lorraine, and Margue- 
rite, Queen of Navarre, beside her, seemed entirely 
at ease and held her usual drawing-room. The 
Duchess had been forewarned of what was going to 
happen. Marguerite knew absolutely nothing about 
it. She gives a curious account of this scene in her 
Memoirs : " The Huguenots suspected me because I 
was Catholic, and the Catholics because I had mar- 
ried the King of Navarre, who was a Huguenot. So 
much so that no one said anything about it to me 
until in the evening, when I was at the couchee of 

271 



272 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

the Queen, my mother, sitting on a box near my 
sister of Lorraine, whom I observed to be very sad, 
the Queen, my mother, who was speaking to several 
persons, noticed me and told me to go to bed. As I 
was making my courtesy, my sister took me by the 
arm and stopped me, and beginning to cry very hard 
said to me: 'My God! sister, do not go there!' 
which frightened me extremely. The Queen, my 
mother, saw this, and calling my sister scolded her 
very much, and forbade her to say anything to me." 

The Duchess of Lorraine, who knew that in a few 
moments the Calvinist nobles were to have their 
throats cut close to the chamber of the Queen of Na- 
varre, entreated Catherine to keep her daughter with 
her. "My sister said to my mother, "adds Margue- 
rite, " that there was no advantage in sending me to 
be sacrificed like that, and that without doubt, if they 
discovered anything, they would revenge themselves 
on me. The Queen, my mother, replied that if it 
pleased God no harm would come to me, but how- 
ever that might be, I must go lest they should suspect 
something. ... I plainly saw they were contesting 
some point, but I did not hear their words. She 
roughly ordered me again to go to bed. My sister, 
bursting into tears, bade me good-night without dar- 
ing to say anything else; and I went off quite dis- 
ma3^ed and bewildered, without being able to imagine 
what I had to fear. As soon as I was in my cham- 
ber, I began to pray God to be pleased to take me 
under His protection, and keep me safe without 
knowing why or wherefore." 



AND HER CONTEMrORARlES 273 



When she entered her apartments, Marguerite 
found her husband there surrounded by thirty or forty 
Huguenots. All night long they talked of nothing 
but the admiral's wound, and determined to demand 
justice from the King as soon as day broke. " For 
me," says the Queen, "my sister's tears were con- 
stantly in my mind, and I could not sleep for the 
apprehension they had put me in. Thus the night 
went by without my closing my eyes." But already 
the dawn of Saint Bartholomew's day had begun to 
whiten the horizon. It would soon be four o'clock 
in the morning. The King of Navarre said he would 
go and play tennis until King Charles should awaken. 
He went out with his nobles, and began a game of 
tennis in the lower halls of the Louvre. " For me, 
seeing that it was day, concluding that the danger 
my sister had spoken of was over, heavy Avith sleep, 
I told my nurse to fasten the door so that I might 
sleep at my ease. As I was sleeping, a man came 
rapping at the door with feet and hands and crying : 
'Navarre! Navarre! ' My nurse, thinking it Avas the 
King, my husband, ran quickly to the door. It was 
a gentleman named M. de Tejean, who had a sword 
thrust in the elbow, and a halberd thrust in the arm, 
and who was still pursued by four archers who fol- 
lowed close after him into the chamber. He, desir- 
ing to save himself, threw himself on my bed. 
Feeling these men who were holding me, T threw 
myself between the bed and the wall, and he after 
me, keeping me all the time across his body." 



274 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

M. de Tejean was saved from death by Marguerite. 
As to the other Calvinists, lodged like him in the 
Louvre, " the archers pricked them from chamber to 
chamber, so that they should throw themselves down 
the stairs, or through the windows of the court, where 
slaughterers drawn up in ranks, with serried pikes, 
would receive and finish them." Throwing a night 
mantle over her shoulders, the Queen of Navarre 
started for the chamber of her sister, Madame de 
Lorraine, which she reached more dead than alive. 
At the moment she entered it, a gentleman named 
Bourse, trying to escape from the archers who pur- 
sued him, was pierced by a halberd not three steps 
away from her. 

It is related that the wife of Charles IX., the 
gentle and pious Elisabeth, awakened by the noise, 
and advised of what was going on, exclaimed : " Does 
the King know it?" She was told that it was he 
who had commanded it. "O my God!" then said 
the Queen, " I entreat Thee to pardon him, for unless 
Thou hast pity, I greatly fear this offence will never 
be forgiven." And bursting into tears, she asked 
for her book of Hours, and spent all the night in 
prayers. 

While the soul of the good Queen was thus in 
company with the angels, demons rent the heart of 
Catherine de' Medici. Tavannes and Villeroy agree 
in saying that at the last moment she was frightened 
by her own resolve ; that she grew giddy before the 
abyss; "that she would willingly have recalled it." 



AND HER CO'NTEMPORARIES 275 



Some hours before, Charles IX., hoping to stifle his 
sinister thoughts by violent exercise, had begun to 
forge with savage eagerness. When the tocsin 
sounded, it is said that he, his mother, and his 
brother, "struck with terror and apprehension of the 
great disorders about to be committed," ^ relapsed 
into hesitation and sent an order to stop the massacre. 
But it Avas late. The sun had risen, it lighted up 
the carnage. 

There have been many controversies concerning 
the quota of responsibility incurred by Charles IX. 
and his mother. Our own opinion is that a distinc- 
tion must be made between the King and Catherine. 
We believe that the monarch should not be accused 
of premeditation, that "the night, the unexpected 
situation, the thought of having in the Louvre itself 
thirty or forty of the most redoubtable Protestants, 
a Pardaillan, a de Piles, the first swordsmen of 
France,"^ all combined to inspire him with a terror 
which made him suddenly take a resolution. 

The reflections made on this subject by M. Meri- 
mee in the preface to his Chronique du temps de 
Charles IX. seem to us full of justice. He says : " I 
cannot admit that the same men could have been able 
to conceive a crime whose results must be so impor- 
tant, and to execute it so badly. The measures, in 
fact, were so ill taken that several months after the 
Saint liartholomew the war broke out afresh, the 



Villeroy's Memoirs. 2 Michelet, Guerres de religion. 



276 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

reformers certainly winning all the glory of it, and 
retiring from it with new advantages. In fine, is 
not the assault on Coligny which took place two days 
before the Saint Bartholomew, sufficient to refute the 
supposition of a conspiracy? Why kill the chief be- 
fore the general massacre ? Was not this the way to 
alarm the Huguenots and put them on their guard?" 
M. Merim^e also remarks that the Duke of Guise, 
threatened by the King and by the Protestants, sud- 
denly sought a support among the people. "He 
assembles the leaders of the citizen guard, talks to 
them about a conspiracy of heretics, makes them 
promise to exterminate them before it breaks out, and 
the massacre is not thought of until then. As but 
few hours elapse between the plan and its execution, 
it is easy to explain the mystery with which the plot 
was enveloped, and the secret so well guarded by 
so many men, which would otherwise appear very ex- 
traordinary, since confidences fly fast in Paris." 

Marguerite's Memoirs, written in simple terms, 
and with a remarkable accent of impartiality, say 
explicitly that it was with great difficulty that the 
Queen-mother extorted the King's authorization of 
the massacre. " They had a great deal of trouble to 
make him consent, and if they had not given him to 
understand that he was about to lose his life and his 
kingdom he would never have done it. . . . And the 
Queen, my mother, was never so perplexed as in try- 
ing to demonstrate to the said King Charles that this 
was for the good of his kingdom, on account of the 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 277 

affection he had for M. the Admiral, La None, and 
Teligny, whose wit and worth he appreciated, being 
so generous a prince that he never liked any but those 
in whom he recognized such qualities." 

We do not hesitate to think that Catherine was 
more guilty than Charles IX. She had brought to 
court, some days before, the widow of Duke Francis 
of Guise, that woman in whose veins flowed together 
the blood of Louis XIL and that of the Borgias, and 
who had declared a vendetta against Coligny. The 
admiral was the Queen-mother's bitterest enemy; and 
in the view of M. Armand Baschet, whose judgments 
on this epoch always carry so much weight, it is 
beyond doubt " that she had meditated and premedi- 
tated the death of this redoubtable enemy." Gio- 
vanni Michieli, who is usually rather sympathetic 
than hostile to Catherine, throws the whole respon- 
sibility of the crime upon her, attributing to her the 
attempt on Coligny and the massacre of August 24. 

"Your Serenity must know," he says in his rela- 
tion, "that from beginning to end this whole action 
has been the Queen's work, arranged, plotted, and 
directed by her with no aid but that of Mgr. d'Anjou, 
her son. It is a long time since the Queen con- 
ceived this project, as she herself has just reminded 
her relative, Mgr. Salviati, the present nuncio at 
court, calling him to witness that she had secretly 
charged him to acquaint the late Pope, that as soon 
as possible His Holiness should see what vengeance 
the King would take on those belonging to the 
relio-ion. 



278 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 



"According to what she says, this was her only 
reason for desiring so greatly the marriage between 
her daughter and the King of Navarre, and thinking 
lightly of the Portugal marriage, as well as of the 
other great alliances offered her, because she wished 
the nuptials to take place at Paris with the interven- 
tion of the admiral and the other leaders; she had 
reflected well, and comprehended that there was no 
surer way to draw them thither. " If the testimony of 
Giovanni Michieli is of importance, that of the Span- 
ish ambassador is not less interesting. In a despatch 
of September 6, 1572, ^ Don Diego de Zuniga writes 
to his government that the admiral's death had been 
premeditated but that that of the others was sudden. 
The nuncio, Salviati, who represented the Pope at 
the French court, afhrms in his despatches ^ that if 
the arcJiibusiata, that is, the musket-shot fired at 
Coligny by Maurevel had succeeded, the Queen- 
mother would not have resolved on the massacre. 
He is also of opinion that Charles IX. had not been 
admitted to the secret of the attempt of August 22. 
Marguerite of Valois does not hesitate to declare in 
her Memoirs, that her mother entirely approved of 
this first attempt at murder, and greatl}^ regretted its 
failure. The opinion of Brantome must also be cited, 
who says in speaking of Catherine : " She has been 
strongly accused of the Paris massacre. I could 



1 Archives of Simancas. 

^ Annales ecclesiastiques, by Pere Theiner. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 279 

name three or four others who were more eag-er about 
it than she, and who urged her forcibly, deceiving 
her with the notion that the threats made on account 
of the admiral's wound would lead to the slaying of 
the King, herself, and her children, and the whole 
court: as to which, it is certain that those of the 
religion were very wrong to make such threats as 
they were said to make, for thereby they aggravated 
the poor admiral's trouble and procured his death. 
For if they had kept quiet and not said a word, and 
allowed the admiral to recover, he could afterwards 
have departed from Paris very comfortably and quite 
at his ease." 

The controversy which now divides historians 
raged equally among Catherine's contemporaries. 
" Although there are still those who cannot rid them- 
selves of the notion that this train had been laid long 
beforehand, and the plot brooded over,'' Brantome 
dismisses the idea of premeditation, so far, at least, 
as the Saint Bartholomew is concerned. Such also 
appears to be the opinion of M. Michelet. "Mar- 
guerite acquaints us," he says, "that on Sunday, 
August 24, the Huguenots were to come in a body 
and denounce Guise formally in presence of the 
King. Guise, against whom so many proofs could 
be adduced, neither could nor would deny a stroke 
which raised him so high in the favor of Catholics ; 
but he would have said that he had done nothing 
except by order of legitimate authority, that of the 
Duke of Anjou, lieutenant-general of the realm. 



280 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

Anjou and Catherine were about to be convicted 
of having attempted Colignj^'s murder, because 
Coligny was urging the King to banish his danger- 
ous heir from France. Anjou might well have 
perished at the hands of a man so sudden and violent 
as Charles IX., and Catherine, so often threatened 
with being sent back to Italy, would probably, on 
this stroke, have taken the road to Florence." This 
would explain her desperate effort to induce Charles 
IX. to give the fatal signal. What does it matter, 
in any case, whether the catastrophe was one of long 
or short premeditation ? There are deeds for which 
neither excuses nor attenuating circumstances can be 
pleaded, and certain rehabilitations can be nothing 
more than paradoxes. 



XIII 

ELISABETH OF AUSTRIA A^H) CHARLES IX. 

CATHERINE DE' MEDICI could not wholly 
forget either the counsels of L'HQpital, or 
those of her former confessor, Thomasseau,^ that tol- 
erant priest whose interesting figure has been already 
sketched by M. Faugere in his fine Etude sur le cour- 
age eivil. She could not succeed in stifling the voice 
ol conscience. "Although the habit of dissimula- 
tion as well as age had formed for her that abbess's 
mask, wan yet full of depth, which is so remarkable 
to those who have studied her portrait, the courtiers 
observed some shadows cross that Florentine mirror. " ^ 
The woman, formerly mild and attractive, who had 
been hitherto the image of conciliation, now inspiretl 
terror. 

Charles did not love his mother much, and did not 
endure patiently the yoke she laid upon him. At 
this moment the chief object of the King's affection 
was his mistress, Marie Touchet, only daughter of 
Jean Touchet, lieutenant of the bailiwick of Orleans. 



1 Thomasseau was disgraced at the same time as his friend 
L'Hopital, in 1568. 

2 Honore de Balzac, J^iude sur Catherine de' Medici. 

281 



282 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

Little is known of this woman, whose rank was be- 
tween that of the citizens and the smaller nobility, 
and who played no part at all in politics. We only 
know that she was born in 1549, and that she was 
sixteen when Charles IX. began to love her. She 
had a son by him who was recognized and wore the 
royal arms with the title of Count of Auvergne, and 
afterwards with that of Duke of Angouleme. It is 
said that when the marriage of the King was about 
to be concluded, she said, on looking at the portrait 
of the future Queen : ^' I am not afraid of this German 
woman." The young monarch vainly essayed to 
shake off the trammels of this beauty. He always 
came back to Marie Touchet. He had given her an 
estate near the castle of Vincennes where she went 
in the evening when Charles, after hunting, rested 
himself in this royal abode. 

But neither the love of his mistress, the flattery of 
his courtiers, the applause of fanatics, nor the daz- 
zling luxury of a court full of amusements, could 
any longer soothe the melancholy temper of the King. 
"At this time," says Honore de Balzac, *'he was 
distinguished by a sombre majesty. The grandeur 
of his secret thoughts was reflected on his visage, re- 
markable for the Italian tint that he had inherited 
from his mother. This ivory pallor, so beautiful by 
lamplight, so favorable to the expressions of melan- 
choly, set off the brilliancy of his deep-blue eyes." 
Jealous of his brother, the Duke of Anjou, he was 
glad to see him start for Poland. But the splendid 



AND HEB CONTEMPORARIES 283 



festivities given on this occasion did not succeed in 
diverting him. He smiled no more. 

Complete light has been thrown on this curious 
episode of the Duke of Anjou's brief royalty in 
Poland by a work of great historical value. Its 
author, the Marquis Emmanuel de Noailles, de- 
scribes very well the jealousy of the two brothers, 
the attitude of the Polish nobility, the manoeuvres 
of Catherine and her diplomatic agent. Bishop Mont- 
luc, to place a son of France on the ancient throne of 
the Jagellons. One should read in this fine book 
the details of the entry of the Polish ambassadors 
into Paris, and the magnificent entertaiments Cather- 
ine offered them at the Tuileries. Then was beheld, 
says Brantome, "the most beautiful ballet that ever 
was, com]30sed of sixteen of the fairest and best- 
trained ladies and misses, who appeared in a silvered 
rock where they were seated in niches, shut in on 
every side. The sixteen ladies represented the six- 
teen provinces of France. After having made the 
round of the hall for parade as in a camp, they all 
descended and ranging themselves in the form of a 
little and oddly contrived battalion, some thirty vio- 
lins began a very pleasant war-like air to which they 
danced their ballet." Then they bore to the kings 
and queens golden plaques on which were engraved 
the "fruits and singularities of each province," the 
wheat of Champagne, the vines of Burgundy, the 
lemons and oranges of Provence. But none of these 
allegories had power to amuse Charles IX. any longer. 



284 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

and like the victims of ancient fatality, he had no 
further acquaintance with joy. 

It is curious to observe how exactly the later 
Valois represented their epoch. Francis I. had per- 
sonified the Renaissance, Charles IX. sums up iu 
himself all the crises of the religious wars. He is 
the true type of a morbid and disturbed society 
where all is violent; where the blood is scorched by 
the double fevers of pleasure and cruelty; where the 
human soul, without guide or compass, is tossed amid 
storms; where fanaticism is joined to debauchery, 
superstition to incredulity, the culture of intelli- 
gence to depravity of heart. This wholly unbalanced 
character, which plunges from one extreme to the 
other, w^hich stretches evil to its utmost limits while 
preserving the vocation to and knowledge of what is 
good, which mistrusts everybody and yet has, if not 
the experience, at least the aspiration after friendship 
and love, is it not the symbol and living image of its 
time? The account-book of the King during the 
Saint Bartholomew year indicates the contradictory 
tendencies of his strange nature. " Here one sees his 
barbarous instincts manifested in the indemnity he 
allows to a poor man whose cow he had given to his 
dogs to eat; here again he buys a mule to be devoured 
by the lions in the royal menagerie ; then, at the side 
of these bloody caprices, we see him granting assist- 
ance to poor students, so that they may continue 
their studies, or sending a considerable sum to a 
gentleman of Cyprus, so that he may deliver from the 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 285 



hands of Turkish corsairs his brother and five of his 
sisters."^ This monarch, born for enthusiasm, con- 
demns himself to scepticism. Worthy by his in- 
stincts to become a great King, he will end by being- 
nothing but a wretched despot, and by showing what 
an evil education can make of a noble heart and a 
lofty intelligence. 

There was lacking to Charles IX., as well as to 
Catherine de' Medici, the quality necessary to private 
persons, and still more necessary to sovereigns : the 
moral sense. The son has all his mother's defects; 
but the crafty Florentine, at least, knows how to dis- 
simulate the vices of her soul under a seeming tran- 
quillity: she has the hypocrisy of mildness. Access 
to her is easy, her conversation is insinuating, her 
politeness exquisite. Charles, on the contrary, dur- 
ing the two latter years of his life, talks and acts 
like a madman. His rages border on epilepsy. His 
countenance, once agreeable, has become savage. 
"His looks are gloomy, guardatura malincolica^^' 
says the Venetian ambassador, Sigismond Cavalli. 
"In his interviews and audiences he never looks 
tliose who are speaking to him in the face. He lowers 
liis head, closes his eyes, then opens them suddenly, 
and as if this movement pained him, he closes them 
again not less suddenly. It is feared that tlie spirit 
of vengeance has taken possession of him. He seeks 



1 M. Eudel du Gord, Recueil de documents histoiiques sur les 
derniers Valois. 



286 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

fatigue at any cost. He remains on horseback for 
twelve or fourteen hours together. Thus he goes 
chasing and running through the woods after the 
same stag for two or three days, never stopping but 
to eat, and resting only for a moment at night. 
Hence his hands are callous, rough, and full of cuts 
and blisters."^ 

Charles IX., tormented by an unhealthy need of 
activity, pushes his amusements to convulsive fury. 
What he calls his pleasures would be cruel sufferings 
to others. When he winds his horn he blows as if 
to break his lungs. If he fences, or plays tennis, it 
is with frenzy. To escape from himself, to tear him- 
self from his gloomy thoughts, he requires incredible 
fatigues. "This King," says Sigismond Cavalli 
again, "pushes his search after violent exercise so 
far as to pound an anvil three or four hours at a time, 
using an enormous hammer, forging a cuirass, or any 
other kind of solid armor, and nothing makes him 
vainer than to tire out his rivals. When one of 
them gives up the contest. His Majesty derives a 
marvellous pleasure from it." 

This continual over-excitement exhausts the un- 
happy monarch. Premature w^rinkles betray the 
inward efforts of a tired organization to provide for 
the labors of intelligence and the violent exertions 
of the body. At once artist and huntsman, poet and 
blacksmith, Charles IX., worn out by passion, and 

1 Sigismond Cavalli, Belazione della Corte di Francia. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 287 



victimized by the flame that devours him, soon be- 
comes a physical and mental wreck. At the hour 
when his forces betray him he is seized by an invinci- 
ble sadness. More to be pitied than Tantalus, he 
sees glory but cannot attain to it. He longs to wrest 
France from factions, in order to make it enter upon 
its true destinies, by a noble and valorous sj)ring 
towards its natural frontiers. He longs to re temper 
his soul in new emotions ; to make the chase give way 
to war; to hear, not the hunting-horn but the sound 
of the trumpet in battle. War! war! is thenceforth 
his fixed idea. One day he calls the men of his suite 
to show them a black spot he has under his shoulder. 
"If I die in a battle," he says to them, "this will 
be a sign by which you can recognize me." — "Sire, 
do not think of that. Why such a foreboding?" — 
"Do you think," returns the King, "that I would 
rather die in my bed than in a battle ? " 

After fever comes debility, and after exasperation, 
exhaustion. The frenzied monarch, conquered by 
bodily and mental torments, became once more good 
and gentle. The Huguenot nurse who had rocked the 
infant appeased and consoled the King. There were 
moments when the tyrant disappeared to give place 
to a young man who would have desired to revive to 
hope, love, and life, and who was already growing 
cold in the shadows of death. Music, that great 
consoler which gives charm and poetry to sadness, 
sometimes gave him a moment's respite. Harmony 
tranquillized him as it did Saul. It is said that in 



288 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

the last days of his existence, so short in time, so 
long in suffering, he summoned Marie Touchet, 
who loved in him — or so he believed — the man and 
not the king. It was time to say farewell. Charles 
IX. would have liked to live, to be happy, to be just, 
to be clement, to make himself beloved. At last he 
understood his mission, his power, and his resources. 
" But this light was burning in a broken lamp. " ^ The 
moment had come to quit the throne for the tomb. 
Having been told of an insurrection: "At least," 
cried the unhappy King, "they might have waited 
for my death. 'Tis too much to begrudge me that! " 
Nothing is more melancholy than the end of this 
prince, upon whom in his death-struggle were heaped 
all the agonies of his century, the most tragical of 
all these epochs. 

"Ah! my nurse, my own," said he, "how much 
blood and murder! Ah! what wicked counsels I 
have followed ! O my God, pardon me for them, if it 
please Thee! " Who would not grow compassionate 
with Chateaubriand over "this Catholic monarch 
yielding up his soul amidst remorse, vomiting his 
blood, sobbing aloud, shedding floods of tears, for- 
saken by all the world, aided and consoled only by a 
Huguenot nurse." 

The only historian unwilling to believe in the 
moral tortures of Charles IX. is M. Capefigue, who 
claims that "the gaiety of this prince never aban- 

1 Honore de Balzac. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 289 

doned him for a single instant." The ambassador, 
Sigismond Cavalli, is not of this opinion. He says 
that horrible memories disturbed the King to the last 
extremity and he could find no rest. " Le congiure 
sopradette lo cruciavano estremamente^ ne mai poteva 
pigliar requie.'^ No, no: do not try to destroy the 
high morality involved in the spectacle of this great 
anguish, nor cast a doubt on the testimony of all the 
contemporaries of a monarch who deserves pity more 
than hatred. If he is deprived of his sorrows, his 
tears, his despair, there is nothing left but a monster. 
Do not seek to rob him of the only thing that cai? 
absolve him: his remorse. 

The premature death of Charles IX. fulfilled a 
prophecy already famous. As far back as 1560, the 
Venetian ambassador, Michieli, had written con- 
cerning the death of Francis II. and the malady of 
the future Henry III. : " This reminds me of a pre- 
diction, very popular in France, of the famous 
astrologer, Nostradamus, which menaces the life of 
all the princes by saying that the Queen will see all 
of them on the throne." Catherine had not desired 
the death of Charles IX. any more than that of 
Francis II. But by putting blind faith in this pre- 
diction of three kings, she expected its fulfilment, 
and believed it inevitable. Moreover, the dying 
man had appointed her regent until the arrival of the 
King of Poland, now King of France. It was a 
consolation. 

Charles IX. was hardly dead before he was forgot- 



290 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

ten. Yet there was one woman who formed an excep- 
tion to the general indifference, and who mourned 
for him from the bottom of her soul: it was his 
faithful and chaste companion, Elisabeth of Austria. 
"She loved and honored hina extremely," sa3^s Bran- 
tSme; "although he had mistresses, she never re- 
ceived him ill nor said hard words to him on that 
account, but patiently endured the wrong he did 
her." Again BrantSme describes her during her 
husband's last illness, seated near the dying man, 
"not close to the head of his bed but at a little dis- 
tance; as long as she remained there she kept her 
eyes so fixed upon him that you would have said she 
was brooding over him in her heart for the love she 
bore him. ... It excited pity in every one to see her 
so distressed, yet making no display of her sorrow or 
her love, and without the King's observing it. . . . 
She regretted him extremely."^ For a moment one 
forgets scenes of horror and carnage to contemplate 
this sweet German woman, whose gentleness is in 
such contrast with all her surroundings. Raising 
her soul to God, she sheds the holy tears which ex- 
tinguish the fires of hell. Shouts of anger and ven- 
geance no longer re-echo in our ears. We hear 
nothing but the pious murmur of a voice that prays. 
We behold a woman who is weeping. 

Charles IX. died on Whitsunday, May 30, 1574, 
in the twenty-fifth year of his age and the fifteenth 

1 Brantome, Elisabeth cV Autriche. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 291 



of his reign. He left a daughter, Elisabeth of 
France, born in 1572, who lived only live years and 
a half. According to Brant6me, she had " the largest 
heart and mind ever seen in such a little creature. 
. . . Young as she was, she knew how to preserve 
her dignity as well as if she had been older. When 
people went to see her in her chamber and pay her 
reverence, she would put out her hand to be kissed 
as prettily as the Queen, her mother, would have 
done. . . . She shamed the oldest, so much so that 
people said she had too much intelligence and would 
not live long." This prediction was soon realized. 
The widow of Charles IX. had to mourn both her 
husband and her only daughter. "Ah! Madame," 
was said to her one day, " what a misfortune that you 
have no son ; your lot would be less pitiful, and you 
would be Queen-mother and Regent!" — "Alas!" 
she answered, "do not make such a disagreeable 
remark. As if France had not afflictions enough 
without my producing another to complete its ruin. 
Foi*, if I had a son, there would be more divisions, 
troubles, and seditions to obtain the administration 
and guardianship during his infancy and minority, 
and every one would try to profit himself by despoil- 
ing the poor child, as they wanted to do with the 
late King, my husband." Brant6me, in quoting this 
touching response, has reason for paying homage to 
the angelic goodness of a princess whose thoroughly 
Christian modesty and humility are like an expiation 
for the pride, ambition, and cruelty of her con tern- 



292 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

poraries. This lioly widow did not remain in France. 
She returned to Austria, near the Emperor Rudolph, 
her brother, and erected a convent, the nuns of which 
she treated as friends. She employed her jointures 
of Beny, Bourbonnais, Forez, and La Marche, in 
benefiting those provinces. When her sister-in-law, 
Marguerite of Valois, fell into disgrace and lost her 
resources, Elisabeth was the only person who took 
pity on her; she shared her jointure with her like a 
true sister. Faithful to the memory of the husband 
whom she had profoundly loved, and resolved "not 
to forget him in a second marriage," she refused to 
ascend the throne of Spain, and died, calm and col- 
lected, at the age of thirty-five, having desired no 
other majesty in her widowhood but the majesty of 
sorrow. 



XIV 

LOUISE DE VAUDEMONT AND HENRY III. 

CATHERINE DE' MEDICI sent a circular 
to the governors of the provinces to apprise 
them of the death of Charles IX. " The loss I have 
experienced," she said in it, "has so overwhelmed 
me with grief, that my only desire is to abandon all 
affairs in order to seek tranquillity of life ; neverthe- 
less, yielding to the urgent request he made in his 
last moments, I have constrained myself to accept 
the regency he committed to me, and I entreat you 
to maintain jour authority, and prevent all under- 
takings which might disturb the public peace." 

During the three months (May 30-September 5, 
1574) in which she held the reins of power, Cathe- 
rine's chief effort was to maintain the staUi quo^ and 
to render easy the beginning of the reign of her 
favorite son, he who was, in the words of a Vene- 
tian ambassador, " the right eye and the soul of his 
mother. Questo e V occhio destro e V anima della 
7nadre.'" When there was any negotiating or tem- 
porizing to be done, this politic woman felt herself 
in her element As Sismondi has well said, "She 
had arrived at the conviction that slie had no equal 

293 



294 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

in craft and subtlety; she practised intrigue like a 
game wherein her talents shone with the utmost 
brilliancy and her vanity was flattered by daily suc- 
cesses." 

As the times grew more difficult her activity was 
redoubled. Anxious to see and to do ^everything 
herself, incessantly writing to everybody, practising 
espionage on a grand scale, and always preferring a 
crooked road to a straight one for arriving at her 
object, the crafty Florentine, mistress of herself, 
gracious, obliging, never allowing her sentiments to 
be divined, " supposing that she still had sentiments, " 
appeared to her contemporaries as the embodiment of 
address and dissimulation. She was fifty-four years 
old when Henry III. succeeded to the crown. " If 
she had had gallantries before this, which is in no- 
wise proved, thenceforward, at all events, her mind 
was entirely bent on public intrigues : she knew the 
most secret actions and even the thoughts of those 
about her court; by means of their rivalries and 
hatreds she made them equally dependent on her, 
and prided herself on so using their passions, or vices, 
as to make them act according to her views. "^ 

Notwithstanding the pleasure she took in govern- 
ing alone, Catherine impatiently awaited Henry III. 
The King of France and Poland had fled from Cra- 
covia like a robber five days after learning of his 
brother's death, June 18, 1574. The short stay he had 

1 Sismondi, Histoirc de France. 



AND HER CONTEMPORAUIKS 295 



made in the country demonstrated that he had come 
there against his will. Among those haughty Sar- 
matians he had complained like Ovid on the shores 
of the Euxine Sea. "He wore that crown," says the 
historian, Pierre Matthieu, " like a rock on his head. " ^ 
He found his greatest diversion in writing to France. 
He sometimes despatched forty or fifty letters from 
his own hand by a single courier. " The ladies 
Avhom he had not lost sight of had the best part of his 
labor." He was parading at the time an enthusi- 
astic passion for the wife of the Prince of Cond^, 
Marie of Cleves, daughter of Francis, Duke of Nevers, 
and Marguerite of Bourbon, a sister of Louis I., 
Prince of Conde. The young princess, who had 
only been married two years, shone equally by wit 
and beauty as by birth and riches. If she had not 
surrendered to her lover, she had certainly not re- 
mained insensible to the homage which so greatly 
flattered her feminine vanity. It appears that she 
did not even reject the idea of a divorce, for which 
her husband's relapse into heresy would have afforded 
the pretext. 

Henry, who gave her hopes of the crown, wrote 
her the most passionate letters from Cracovia, in 
blood drawn from his own finger. Souvray, his 
secretary, opened and closed the puncture whenever 
it was necessary to refill the pen. His desire to see 

1 Histoire de France, by Pierre Matthieu, counsellor and his- 
toriographer to the King. Paris, 1631. 



296 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

the princess again was one of the reasons which 
determined Henry to flee suddenly from Poland. 
After having retired for the night in presence of his 
Polish courtiers, he made his escape as soon as he 
heard them leave his chamber. Accompanied by 
Miron, his physician, and by Souvray, Larchant, 
and Du Halde, he noiselessly opened a door of the 
castle which gave on the open country. He walked 
a quarter of a league, by a moonless and starless 
night, until he reached a little chapel where horses 
were awaiting him. He set spur and galloped twenty 
leagues. Several Polish gentlemen, who undertook 
to pursue him, did not catch up with him until he 
was in Moravia. He tried to excuse his strange 
departure by means of the advices sent him by his 
mother. Then, showing the portrait of the Princess 
of Conde, he added : " It is chiefly love which urges 
my return to France; I do not know how to love 
either my friends or my mistress feebly, as you will 
find on my return to Poland." 

Hardly had Henry escaped from his faithful sub- 
jects than he experienced a diminution in the love 
he had alleged as an excuse for his precipitate flight. 
Instead of returning to France without loss of time, 
in order to throw himself at the feet of his beloved, 
he remained eleven days in Austria and two months 
in Italy. In spite of his recent loss, he went from 
one festivity to another. Going on board the Bu- 
centaur he made a formal entry into Venice. The 
Papal Nuncio v/as on the right hand of his throne 



AND HER CONTFMPORAJRIES 297 

and the Doge on the left. Thus he crossed the Grand 
Canal, glittering with illuminations, and landed at 
the Foscari palace. For several days there was a 
constant succession of ovations, banquets, fireworks 
on the water, jousts, and rejoicings. These festivi- 
ties were renewed at Padua, Ferrara, Mantua, and 
Turin. The elegantly sensual atmosphere of the 
Italian cities charmed the most voluptuous of mon- 
archs. At last, on September 5, he reached the 
frontier of his kingdom. Catherine de' Medici re- 
ceived him at Pont-de-Beauvoisin with the greatest 
demonstrations of affection, and on the following 
day he entered Lyons, where he remained two whole 
months. His character soon revealed itself in a most 
unfavorable aspect. Allowing none to approach him 
but some youthful favorites, he spent his days on 
the Sa6ne, in a little painted boat surrounded with 
curtains. When he dined, a balustrade placed in 
front of his table prevented the courtiers from com- 
ing near him. He had the manners of a satrap. At 
Lyons he heard of the death of the Princess of Cond^, 
who expired in giving birth to a daughter, October 
30. At first he showed great despair on receiving 
this news. Giving to his sorrow the character of 
puerility which was always manifest in his tastes 
and passions, "he remained for eight days in sighs 
and cries," says Pierre Matthieu, "and appeared in 
public entirely covered with the insignia and tokens 
of death. He wore little death's heads on his shoe 
ribbons. He had them on his slioulder knots, and 



298 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

ordered Souvray to procure him six thousand ecus' 
worth of this kind of trimmings." Shut up day and 
night in an apartment hung with black, he kissed the 
portrait of the princess, and a lock of her hair. He 
called on her with loud cries as if she could respond 
to his voice. But all these tears and sobs did not 
witness to a real sorrow. Henry III. knew neither 
how to love nor how to suffer. At the end of eight 
days one of his favorites abstracted the portrait, the 
sight of which nourished his grief. The King was 
not very urgent in demanding it back again, and after 
the next day he never again named the poor dead 
woman. 

He quitted Lyons, November 16, and instead of 
turning towards Paris, he went down the Rhone to 
visit Avignon. This papal city pleased him greatly. 
Here he affiliated himself to one of those confrater- 
nities of penitents, or flagellants, who were called 
"the beaten, les hattus^^^ because they struck their 
backs and shoulders with whips in penance for 
their sins. With heads covered by hoods, with no 
apertures except for the eyes, they went through the 
streets at night, by torchlight, chanting the Miserere. 
There were three confraternities, the whites, the 
blacks, and the blues. Following the King's exam- 
ple, the court ladies also enrolled themselves in the 
congregations. Catherine de' Medici put on sack- 
cloth and publicly received the discipline. Not a 
soul, even to the Bearnais, the future Henry IV., 
but figured among the penitents. But Henry III., 



AND HEli CONTEMPORARIES 'li)i) 



who found him not altogether apt at this r61e, 
accused him of not knowing how to wear the hair 
shirt. Tlie Princess of Conde was a thing of the 
past, and radically consoled by the sight of the pro- 
cessions of flagellants, the King of France and Po- 
land, delighted to have banished an importunate 
memory, was now full of thoughts of marriage. 

When he had stopped at Vienna for several days 
on his return from Poland, the Emperor Maximilian 
II. had secretly proposed to him a union with the 
widow of Charles IX., Elisabeth of Austria. The 
King did not reject the proposition ; but as his sister- 
in-law was not much to his taste, he soon forgot the 
offer that had been made him. A young person 
whom he had seen some months before at Nancy, 
Louise, daughter of Nicholas of Lorraine, Count of 
Vaud^mont, had made a lasting impression on him. 
Born at Nomeni, near Metz, in 1553, she lost her 
mother almost as soon as she was born, but her edu- 
cation had, nevertheless, been carefully attended to. 

A character of exquisite sweetness distinguishes 
her beauty and her piety ; her thoroughly Christian 
modesty and humility are reflected in her counte- 
nance. There was nothing brilliant from the pecu- 
niary point of view in the position of her family, and 
no one could have suspected that the daughter of the 
Count of Vaudemont would one day become tlie 
Queen of France. As she was related by ties of con- 
sanguinity to the Guise family, Ihe counsellors of 
Henry III. sought to deter him from the marriage by 



300 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

representing the dangers that might arise from an 
inordinate aggrandizement of a house already too 
powerful. For a moment he seemed shaken in his 
resolve, even sending Claude Pinart, the Secretary 
of State, to Stockholm to ask the hand of the sister 
of the King of Sweden. But Cardinal Lorraine 
dying while the court was at Avignon, Henry claimed 
that the Guises had ceased to be formidable, and that 
nothing now prevented his union with their relative. 
Claude Pinart was abruptly recalled from Sweden, 
leaving behind him a sharp resentment in the mind 
of its sovereign, and Du Guast, Henry's favorite, 
repaired to Lorraine to ask the Count of Yauddmont 
whether he would consent to give his daughter to the 
King of France and Poland. 

It is related that Louise was absent when Du Guast 
arrived. Ever since she was twelve years old, she 
had gone every week to pray in the chapel orf Saint 
Nicholas, in the neighborhood of Nancy. She always 
went there on foot, dressed almost as simply as a 
peasant, and distributed in alms during these days 
twenty-five ^cus which her father gave her every 
month for pocket money. ^ On returning to Nancy 
she said to her step-mother, who was accustomed to 
treat her with great severity : " Pardon me, Madame, 
for not being at your levee this morning." — "It is 
I who should be at yours," replied the Countess of 
Vaudemont; "you are Queen of France. I would 

1 Beines et rege^ites, by Dreux du Eadier. 



AND 11 En CON TEMPOn ABIES 301 



not let any one else have the joy of telling you this 
great news ; forget, in receiving it, the dissatisfaction 
I may have given you ; and, on the throne where you 
are to be seated, do not refuse your protection to your 
brothers, my children, and on their account, to their 
mother." 

Henry III. was crowned at Rheims, February 13, 
1575, and married two days afterward. They say 
the coronation was marked by unlucky omens. The 
crown did not set well on his forehead and wounded 
his head. He kept people waiting for hours while 
the details of his toilet were being perfected, and the 
coronation Mass was not said until after four o'clock 
in the afternoon, by torchlight. 

In spite of his defects and vices, Henry III. has 
the merit of making^ a marriage of inclination with a 
young girl as amiable as she was worthy of esteem. 
" This princess deserves great praise," saj^s Brantc>me, 
" for in her marriage she comported herself so wisely, 
chastely, and loyally with the King, her husband, 
that the nuptial tie which bound her to him has 
always remained so firm and indissoluble that it has 
never been found undone or loosened, even though 
the King, her husband, sometimes liked and procured 
a change, according to the custom of the great who 
keep their own full liberty ; moreover, from the very 
first fine beginnings of their marriage, indeed but ten 
days after, he deprived her of the chamber-maids and 
demoiselles who had always been with her and whom 
she greatly regretted." 



302 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

Henry III., who was naturally meddlesome and 
teasing, tormented his Avit'e more than once; but in 
general he was deferential toward her. He was often 
seen walking with her in the streets of Paris. He 
requested the priests of all the churches to expose 
the tabernacles, which they ornamented with lights 
and flowers. The King went every day in a coach 
with the Queen to visit these repositories, and pray 
and chant litanies before them. On their way back 
to the Louvre he would stop at the shops and buy 
birds, monkeys, and little dogs which he tied fast 
to her belt, or put in a basket which he set on the 
Queen's lap. 

Being very much grieved at having no children, 
he made novenas and pilgrimages to entreat God 
not to allow the family of Valois to become extinct. 
Louise de Vaud^mont was equally sorry that their 
union remained sterile. But this vexation did not 
alter the sweetness of her character, so different from 
that of the women of the court. In a society whose 
very qualities had become defects, where generosity 
was transformed into mad prodigality, the point of 
honor into a quarrelsome temper, courage to useless 
temerity, the taste for art into strange refinements, 
the women had shared in the general corruption. 
Their ideas and tastes were as perverted as their 
morals. Preferring to inspire amazement rather 
than admiration, they aimed, above all things, at 
eccentricity. There was always something exagger- 
ated, fictitious about their sentiments, and the gentler 
emotions no long-er sufficed to charm them. Living 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 303 

in a dulled and surfeited epoch, they constantly 
required unexpected crises, extraordinary incidents, 
and dramatic situations. They found all passions 
insipid unless they involved fighting and romantic 
catastrophes. Whoever aspired to please them must 
impart a character of oddity, violence, or frenzy to 
his words and actions. Billets doux were written 
in blood, and ferocity reigned even in pleasure. 

The vices of her surroundings throw up into clearer 
light the virtues of Louise de Vaud^mont. Giving 
umbrage to no one, she yet held aloof from the 
intrigues and rivalries of which the court was the 
theatre. All the world respected her. Calumny 
itself was silent in presence of this good Queen. 
The agitations around her troubled her not; their 
noisy tumult did not disturb her prayers. As Saint 
Augustine says, " The attentive soul makes its own 
solitude. Gignit enim sibi ipsa meyitis intentio solitu- 
dinem.'^ The waves of the angry ocean broke at the 
foot of the altar where the Queen was kneeling. 
Huguenots and Catholics, leaguers and royalists, 
united to pay her reverence. They were amazed to 
see such purity in an atmosphere so corrupt, such 
gentleness in the midst of a society so violent. 
Their eyes rested with satisfaction on a countenance 
whose holy placidity was undisturbed by pride and 
hatred ; and the heroines of the century, wretched in 
spite of all their amusements and their feverish pur- 
suit of pleasure, made salutary reflections as they 
contemplated a woman still more highly honored by 
her virtues than l)}^ her crown. 



XV 

MARGUERITE OF VALOIS AND HENRY OF 
NAVARRE 

rj^HE Queen of France, Louise of Vaudemont, 
-L and the Queen of Navarre, Marguerite of Va- 
lois, lived at court together. While the one, conduct- 
ing herself like a saint, was occupied solely in good 
works and prayers, the other, behaving like a co- 
quette, led a life of pleasures, intrigues, and worldly 
unrest. The celebrated Queen Margot is a type of 
the femme declassee. What was lacking to this won- 
der of wonders? Discretion: that virtue without 
which all others lose their value. By her faults she 
wilfully condemned herself to cruel humiliations. 
She had knowledge, wit, and talent, but no judgment 
and no wisdom; haughtiness and pride, but no real 
dignity, no self-respect. Spoiled from her cradle by 
overstrained flattery, she had lived a wholly factitious 
life, in an atmosphere of poesy and enchantment. 
Mobile, impressionable, irritable, capricious, like 
most over-flattered women, she was constantly seek- 
ing diversions and novelties. Dreaming of an 
impossible felicity, of ideal joys, the glory of a god- 
dess, and the empyrean of a Venus Urania, she would 

304 



CATHERINE BE' MEBICI 305 



have liked a life of continual enchantments, sur- 
prises, and metamorphoses. 

The compliments which the courtiers vied with 
each other in paying her would have turned the head 
of a more sensible woman. "I remember," says 
Brantc)me, "that a nobleman who had recently ar- 
rived at court, and who had never seen the Queen 
of Navarre, said to me when he caught sight of her: 
'I am not surprised, sir, that you all like the court 
so well ; for if you had no other pleasure there than 
that of daily seeing that beautiful princess, you 
would have so much that you would be in an earthly 
paradise. ' '" The author of the Dames galayites records 
a conversation he had with the poet Ronsard on see- 
ing her enter the grand hall of the Tuileries on the 
day when Catherine de' Medici gave a supper to the 
Polish ambassadors: "Tell the truth, sir," he ex- 
claimed (when she made her appearance in a robe of 
flesh-colored Spanish velvet heavily tinselled, and a 
bonnet of the same velvet entirely covered with 
plumes and precious stones), "does it not seem to 
you that when this beautiful Queen, with her fair 
face, comes forth in such apparel, she is like Aurora 
newly born before the day, and that there is much 
similarity and resemblance in their attire?" M. de 
Ronsard admitted it, and he made a very fine sonnet 
on this comparison (which he thought very fine). 
Marguerite, who was a learned woman, replied in 
Latin to the address of the Polish ambassadors who, 
in their enthusiasm, styled her "a second Minerva, 



306 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

or goddess of eloquence." One of them, Leczinski, 
exclaimed: "No, I wisli to see nothing more after 
such beauty. I would willingly do like the Turkish 
pilgrims to Mecca, where the tomb of their prophet 
Mahomet is, who remain so content, so amazed, so 
enraptured and ravished at beholding so superb a 
mosque, that they will see nothing else thereafter, and 
have their eyes burned out with basins of heated 
brass." Brant^me adds to these ridiculously enthu- 
siastic words : " Truly, if the Poles have been carried 
away by such admiration, there have been many 
others like them. I instance Don John of Austria, 
who, passing through France as secretly as possible, 
having learned on his arrival at Paris that there was 
to be a state ball at the Louvre, went thither in dis- 
guise, more for the sake of seeing the Queen of Na- 
varre than for anything else ; he had opportunity and 
leisure to watch her dancing, led by the King, her 
brother ; he looked fixedly at her, admired her, and 
then exalted her above the beauties of Spain and Italy 
(two regions, nevertheless, which are very fertile in 
them), and said in Spanish: 'Although the beauty 
of this Queen may be more divine than human, it is 
better calculated to ruin and damn men than to save 
them.'" 

In spite of all this eclat, the Queeil of Navarre was 
not happy in her family life. One often sees men 
married to extraordinary beauties preferring women 
much less attractive. It was so with the B^arnais. 
Having espoused against his will a princess who had 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 307 



neither his ideas nor his religion, he esteemed his 
marriage a weakness on his part. After the Saint Bar- 
tholomew his position was both false and precarious. 
"The Catholic lords and princes treated with con- 
tempt this little prisoner of a kinglet whom they 
constantly hounded with sneers and taunts." Cath- 
olic in name, Protestant in heart, and aware of the 
invectives heaped on his co-religionists, he consoled 
himself for his humiliations with boisterous pleasures. 
Knowing that he might one day be called upon to 
wear the crown of France, he had defended himself 
from insults by unalterable indifference. At court 
he was looked on as a hostage, and, in order to render 
him an object of suspicion to his former party, he had 
been obliged to fight in the ranks of the Catholic 
army at the sieges of Sancerre and La Rochelle. 
They tried to ruin him at the time of the trial uf La 
M61e and Coconnas, gentlemen of the Duke of Alen- 
^on's suite, who were accused of having resorted to 
sortilege and witchcraft to bring about the deatli of 
Charles IX., and wlio were condemned to death and 
executed on the Place de Greve, April 30, 1574. 
During the trial Henry of Navarre made a deposition 
drawn upAvith as much address as dignity, and which 
he owed to his wife's skilful pen. Marguerite did 
not love her husband, but she none the less consid- 
ered herself his ally, from the political point of view, 
and at grave crises she drew nearer to him. This 
did not prevent her from betraying liim. It seems, 
even, that she tenderly loved La Mole, and when 



308 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

this gentleman had been decapitated by the execu- 
tioner, she caused his head to be embalmed, and placed 
it in a reliquary. The Duchess of Nevers paid the 
same respect to that of Coconnas. 

When Charles IX. died, Henry of Navarre, who 
was viewed with distrust and hatred by Catherine de' 
Medici, was reduced to a real captivity. He was not 
released from it until Henry III. returned to France. 
He had but one desire when restored to liberty: that 
of escaping from court, and returning to his former 
friends. On February 3, 1576, under pretence of a 
hunting expedition, he drew near to Senlis, crossed 
the boundaries of the territory to which the court 
confined him, and, hurriedly crossing the fields, 
reached the province of Anjou, leaving behind it at 
Paris, as he said, only the two things he cared least 
about: his wife and the Mass. Marguerite had not 
been informed of his departure. Nevertheless she 
was held responsible for it. Henry III., exasper- 
ated, kept her under surveillance. No one dared 
come to see her. "Adversity is always alone at 
court," she says in her Memoirs. "The brave Cril- 
lon," she adds, "was the only one w^ho, despising 
prohibitions and all disgraces, came five or six times 
to my chamber, so astonishing the watch-dogs, they 
had stationed at my door, that they never dared refuse 
him admission." Catherine de' Medici, to calm 
Marguerite, advised her to have patience. She told 
her that we ought always to behave towards our 
enemies as though they might one day be our friends. 



AND HER coy TEMPORARIES 309 

and towards our friends as though they might one 
day be our enemies. 

The princess, ill-used by fortune, entered into a 
brief period of philosophy and piety. She tells us 
that she consoled herself by reading and meditation. 
" Another thing," she saj^s, " which tended toward de- 
votion, was reading in the beautiful book of univer- 
sal nature the many marvels of its Creator." Apropos 
of this. Queen Margot indulges in some highl}^ meta- 
physical considerations : " For every well-nurtured 
soul," adds she, " becoming aware of a ladder of which 
God is the last and highest round, rises enraptured 
to adoration of the marvellous light and splendor of 
that incomparable essence, and, making a perfect 
circle, pleases itself no longer with anything but 
following that Homeric chain, that agreeable ency- 
clopedia which takes its departure from God Him- 
self, the source and end of all things. ... I received 
these two boons from my first captivity, to take pleas- 
ure in study, and to addict myself to devotion, — boons 
which I had never before tasted, amid the vanities 
and splendors of my rightful fortune." So Margue- 
rite had some slight inclinations to religion; but 
she speedily returned to her worldly passions. 

Being much attached to her brother of Alengon, 
she went to Flanders to further the interests of that 
prince who aspired to be its sovereign. After paying 
a visit to Spa, for the sake of her health, she trav- 
elled in this country, which Don John of Austria was 
then ruling in behalf of the King of Spain. There 



310 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

she displayed the greatest luxury. "I went," she 
says, " in a litter made of double pillows, of pale red 
velvet, embroidered in gold and emblematically 
blended silks. This litter was full of windows, each 
of them emblematic, having either on the inside or 
outside forty different devices, with Spanish and 
Italian mottoes about the sun and its effects." A 
diplomatic and most attractive woman, the Queen of 
Navarre sought to make friends for her brother in 
every quarter. She lavished attentions on that 
Countess of Lalain who suckled her infant in pres- 
ence of everybody, "which might have been consid- 
ered an incivility in any one else ; but the Countess 
did it with such grace and naivete that she received 
as much praise for it as the company did pleasure." 
The Queen of Navarre told her how much she re- 
gretted not having her for a compatriot. "This 
country," she replied, " formerly belonged to France, 
and that is why they plead here still in French, and 
this natural affection still clings to the greater num- 
ber of us. . . . Please God to inspire the King of 
France, your brother, with a desire to regain this 
country which was his of old." 

At Namur, Marguerite saw Don John of Austria, 
the victor of Lepanto, "who went to meet her in 
great and superb Spanish magnificence, and received 
her as if she had been Queen Elisabeth, at the time 
when she was his queen and Queen of Spain. It was 
not Don John alone who extolled her, but all those 
great and brave Spanish captains, even to the re- 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 811 

nowned soldiers of the old bands, who all went about 
saying, in their trooper-like refrains, that the con- 
quest of such a beauty would outweigh that of a 
kingdom, and that happy would be the soldiers who 
to serve her might die beneath her banner. "^ 

On her return from Flanders, Marguerite spent 
two months in the castle of Fere, in Picardy, with 
her brother of Alen§on. "O my Queen!" said the 
prince to his beloved sister, " O my Queen, how good 
it is to be near you!" F^re was an enchanting 
abode. After describing its charm. Marguerite adds 
that her brother "would willingly have said, like 
Saint Peter: 'Let us make here our tabernacles,' if 
his thoroughly royal courage, and the generosity of 
his soul, had not called him to greater things." Re- 
turning to the Louvre, the Queen of Navarre shared 
the disgrace of the Duke of Alengon, whom the King 
held a prisoner in the palace. The Duke succeeded 
in escaping. By means of a cord he let himself down 
from his sister's room into the ditch of the Louvre, 
and fleeing from Paris he retired to Angers. 

Some time afterwards. Marguerite was authorized 
to rejoin her husband in B^arn. Brant6me describes 
the vexation felt by the courtiers at her departure. 
"Some said, the court is widowed of its beauty; 
others, the court is very obscure, it has lost its 
sun; others, how dark it is at court! there is no 
torch; others rejoined, we have done finely in allow- 

1 Brantome, Dames illustres. 



312 CATHEBINE BE' MEDICI 

ing Gascony to gasconade us and abduct our beauty, 
destined to embellish France, the court, the Louvre, 
Fontainebleau, Saint-Germain, and other fine roj^al 
places, in order to lodge her at Pau or Nerac ! Still 
others said, the thing is done, the court and France 
have lost the fairest flower in their garland." 

In his Causeries d^un Curieux, always so animated, 
substantial, and interesting, M. Feuillet de Conches 
has devoted an excellent chapter to this period of 
Marguerite's life. Catherine de' Medici herself con- 
ducted her daughter back to the King of Navarre. 
Taking the longest route, she visited Languedoc, 
Guyenne, and Dauphiny, studying the aims and 
policy of the Protestant leaders on the spot, and also 
means whereby to apply the last edict of pacification 
usefully. Henry of Navarre rejoined his wife at 
R^ole, and thence repaired to Pau, where, as being a 
Catholic, she was ill received by the fanatical Prot- 
estants. The married pair afterwards installed them- 
selves at Ndrac, " a place of peace and delights, where 
the Queen began to enjoy life after the Bearnais 
fashion. The sweetness of this period of mutual 
tolerance, which only lasted three years and a half, 
and to which Marguerite's short memory erroneously 
ascribes a longer duration, has left its trace in her 
Memoirs. " ^ The Queen thus expresses herself: " Fe- 
licity which lasted four or five years while I was in 
Gascony with him, making our abode for the most 

1 M. Eeuillet de Conclies, Causeries d''un Curieux, tome iii. 



AND HER CONTEMPOBARIES 313 

part at N^rac, where our court was so fine and pleas- 
ant that we did not envy that of France, having 
there Madame, the Princess of Navarre, his sister, 
who has since married the Duke of Bar, my nephew 
and myself, with a goodly number of ladies and 
young girls; and the King, my husband, was at- 
tended by a fine troop of lords and gentlemen, as 
worthy men as the most gallant I have seen at court ; 
there was nothing to be regretted in them except that 
they were Huguenots. But nothing was ever heard 
of this diversity of religion, the King, my husband, 
and Madame, the Princess, his sister, going to the 
preaching, and I and my train to Mass in a chapel 
which is in the park." Nothing was talked of in 
this court of Nerac but love affairs and pleasures. 
By day they walked and chatted in the beautiful 
garden "which had long alleys of laurels and c}^- 
press. " In the evenings " the Queen gave serenades. " 
She danced admirably, and one likes to do what one 
does well. Sometimes it was the Spanish pavan^ 
sometimes the Italian pazzemeMo^ or some other char- 
acter dance which gave Marguerite an opportunity 
to display her graceful poses, the suppleness of her 
figure, the charm of all her movements. But this 
brilliant existence, which recalled the courts of love 
of the Middle Ages, did not long remain untroubled. 
The dissensions which arose between Henry of 
Navarre and his wife belong to the annals of scandal 
rather than to history. We shall not dwell upon them. 
We shall speak neither of the ''belle Fosseuse," 



314 CATHEIilNE BE' MEDICI 

"quite childish and quite good," nor of Mademoiselle 
Rebours, the audacious mistress of the Bearnais. 
M. Sainte-Beuve has remarked with much justice: 
" Henry's weaknesses and those of Marguerite mutu- 
ally accommodated each other without contradiction. 
Henry soon overstepping limits in his excesses, and 
she doing likewise on her part, neither was the 
other's debtor. It does not pertain to us to hold the 
balance, and enter into details which soon become 
indelicate and shameful." This situation was soon 
aggravated in the most unpleasant manner. An 
incompatibility of temper was evident between the 
pair, which ended in a definitive broil. 

The quarrels, recriminations, and reproaches be- 
coming almost public, the little court of N^rac gave 
the sorry example of discord and scandal which 
amused the malignity of the Queen's enemies. Her 
marvellous beauty had excited too many jealousies 
for the women who were her rivals not to furiously 
seek her ruin. Her health was impaired by so many 
vexations and annoyances. She fell ill in February, 
1582, and when she was convalescent she took the 
unlucky notion of going back to her mother, and 
thus becoming once more dependent on Henry III., 
who hated her. Conducted by her husband as far as 
Saint-Jean-d' Angely, she arrived at Saint-Germain 
March 18. Suspected by the King and Catherine 
de' Medici, on ill terms with both Catholics and 
Protestants, she was about to be dragged into a 
vortex of intrigues, where her dignity, already so 
diminished, was to undergo new attacks. 



AND HFAi CONTEMPORARIES 315 

Hardly had she returned to the court of France 
when Marguerite found herself a prey to a thousand 
persecutions. She was odious to the King, her brother, 
on many accounts; her intimacy with the Duke of 
Guise, her perpetual plottings with the Duke of An- 
jou (the new title of the Duke of Alengon), her im- 
prudent words, the incisive vigor of her criticisms, 
her cutting satires on the favorites, had completely 
alienated Henry III. Through revengeful motives, 
the King posed as a defender of morality. He who 
had so many reproaches to make to himself, judged 
pitilessly the disorders of his sister Marguerite. Mar- 
guerite knew that Henry III. wrote frequently to his 
favorite, the Duke of Joyeuse, who Avas then residing 
at Rome, and that she Avas very badly treated in this 
correspondence. To obtain proofs of this, she caused 
masked men to arrest the bearer of the King's de- 
spatches. So audacious an act was to put the crown- 
ing sheaf on the King's anger. He recapitulated to 
Marguerite the list of her real or alleged faults, and 
enjoined her to free the court at once " of her contag- 
ious presence." She departed, August 8, 1583, accom- 
panied by two maids of honor and several domestics. 
At her first station, Bourg-la-Reine, she met the 
King, who did not stop nor even deign to salute her. 
A little further on, between Saint-Cler and Palaiseau, 
Nicolas de I'Archant, Captain of the Guards, fol- 
lowed by sixty archers, rudel}^ stopped her litter, tore 
off the masks of her maids of honor, loaded them with 
insult, and led them away prisoners. Such an out- 



316 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

rage could not fail to cause a great scandal, and 
even Marguerite's enemies did not understand why 
Henry III. v/as not afraid to insult his own sister 
so grossly. The King of Navarre immediately as- 
sembled his council, and they unanimously decided 
that he had the right to exact either a formal separa- 
tion, or the public condemnation of his wife. Mean- 
while he refused to receive her. 

Henry IH. comprehended too late the fault he had 
committed. As changeable as he was violent, he 
tried to exculpate himself ; and in a long correspond- 
ence with his brother-in-law, he attempted to prove 
that his sole aim had been to withdraw Marguerite 
from the bad influence of the two maids of honor 
w^hom he had caused to be arrested. He added that 
he recognized the falsity of the reports which im- 
peached the Queen's honor. "Do you not know," he 
wrote to the Bearnais, "how subject kings are to be 
deceived, and that the most virtuous princes are fre- 
quently not exempt from calumny. Even with re- 
spect to the late Queen, your mother, you know what 
was said about her, and how badly evil-minded per- 
sons have always spoken of her." This unseemly 
allusion to the memory of such a woman as Jeanne 
d' Albret was hardly calculated to reconcile the broth- 
ers-in-law. 

Count Hector de La Ferri^re^ has published a 
letter written to Catherine de' Medici by Marguerite 

1 Deux annees de mission a Saint Petershourg. 



AND HEE CON TEMPOB ABIES 317 

to exculpate herself: "Madame," she writes, "since 
my unfortunate destiny has brought me to such a 
wretched state that I do not know whether you can 
wish for the preservation of my life, at least, Madame, 
may I hope that you would desire the preservation 
of my honor, seeing that it is so closely united with 
yours, and that of all to whom I have the honor of 
belonging, that I cannot be brought to shame with- 
out their participating in it." Catherine de' Medici, 
on her part, had explosions of grief when she thought 
of Marguerite's humiliations. She wrote to Ville- 
roy : " I am so much annoyed by letters which make 
mention of my daughter, that I think I shall die of it, 
not a single day passing without my receiving some 
new alarm which afflicts me so greatly that I never 
experienced such pain. What is considered certain, 
and she cannot deny it, I have seen the letters she 
has written to the Duke of Lorraine begging him to 
receive her in his dominions. These are such severe 
afflictions that I am almost beside myself." 

After a long negotiation, and in view of certain 
political advantages, Henry of Navarre consented to 
take back his wife. On her return to B^arn, she 
found her husband in love with the Countess of 
Gramont, surnamed the beautiful Corisanda. As 
she had at first flattered herself that she was about to 
resume her family life in triumph, she was struck to 
the heart by this new disgrace, and no longer thought 
of anything but quitting forever a spouse who was 
as inconstant as herself. Under pretext of being 



318 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

able to keep Lent better at a distance from a Protes- 
tant Prince, she asked permission to repair to Agen, 
and there attempted to make herself independent 
with the aid of the League. 

Well received at first by the inhabitants of the 
city, she soon made them discontented by the imposi- 
tion of exorbitant taxes. They forced her to depart 
with so much precipitation that she fled on horse- 
back, riding crupperwise with a gentleman named 
Lignerac, who conducted to the castle of Carlat, " a 
place smelling more like a den of thieves than the 
dwelling of a Princess, the daughter, sister, and wife 
of Kings." Marguerite remained eighteen months 
in this abode." The Lord of Carlat dying at this 
time, Lignerac found her another asylum. Hardly 
was she in safety at Iboy, near Allier, than she was 
abducted by the Marquis of Canillac, Governor of 
Auvergne, who interned her in the castle-fortress of 
Usson. " Poor man ! " exclaims Brant6me, " what was 
he thinking of? To wish to hold captive in his 
prison her who, with her eyes and her fair face, could 
bind all the rest of the world like a galley slave in 
her links and chains." Canillac was Marguerite's 
dupe. Like the lion in love, he let his claws be cut, 
and then, one fine day, as he was about to enter the 
castle, he perceived that the drawbridge was not 
lowered, and that the Queen, surrounded by soldiers 
whom the Duke of Guise had sent her from Orleans, 
was henceforth absolute mistress of the citadel. The 
poor governor withdrew, very much ashamed of his 
discomfiture. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 319 



Marguerite, in her retreat of Usson, ended, says 
M6zeray, "by consuming the rest of her youth in 
adventures more worthy of a woman who had aban- 
doned her husband than of a daughter of France." 
She was saved from absolute want by the pecuniary 
aid afforded her by her sister-in-law, Elisabeth of 
Austria, widow of Charles IX. She had to pawn 
her jewels and melt down her plate. "I have noth- 
ing unpledged," said she; "I fear the worst, I hope 
little." She remained eighteen consecutive years, 
from 1587 to 1605, in the castle of Usson. The 
position of this woman, once surrounded by such 
homage, had become as false as it was precarious. 

Marguerite had the lot of most coquettes; she 
knew not how to grow old. Unable to accustom her- 
self to the loss of her beauty, she resorted to many 
artifices for concealing it. Her hair being no longer 
brown, she made herself ridiculous with blonde wigs. 
She kept fair-haired footmen who were shorn from 
time to time for this purpose. Her dress and man- 
ners were eccentric. When that moment arrives, 
glorious to good women, disastrous to vicious ones, 
when the only surviving beauty is a moral one, only 
solid qualities can endure. Old age which is majes- 
tic in some women is ridiculous in others. The 
superannuated coquetries of Queen Margot are no 
longer attractive, their charm has vanished. The 
raptures had disappeared. The indiscretion still 
remained. The Avorld nearly always demands an 
expiation for the successes it has granted. Ruthless 



320 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

satires tread on the heels of fanatical laudations. A 
contemptuous smile greets these queens of fashion 
who have not been wise enough to make a timely 
renunciation of the triumphs which flatter their 
self-love. 

More than once comparison has been attempted 
between Queen Margot and Mary Stuart. M. 
Sainte-Beuve very justly remarks that history affords 
no basis for such a parallel. "Mary Stuart," says 
the eminent critic, " who possessed much of the wit 
and grace and manners of the Valois, who as a 
woman was hardly more moral than Marguerite, had 
or seemed to have an elevation of heart which was 
acquired or developed in her long captivity, and which 
was crowned by her painful death. Of these two 
destinies, one, in fine, represents a great cause and 
ends pathetically in the record of victim and martyr; 
the other is scattered and dispersed in anecdotes and 
stories, half broad, half devout, with a dash of wit 
and sarcasm thrown in. Many a tearful tragedy has 
been based on the death of one ; one can make noth- 
ing better than a fable (^fabliau) of the other." But 
such a fable would be more interesting than many a 
philosophic study ; it would, show what it costs even 
the most brilliant heroines and most striking beauties 
to stray from good sense and virtue. The story would 
be licentious in its details and moral in its conclu- 
sions. 



XVI 

CATHERINE DE' MEDICI AND THE DAY OF THE 
BAERICADES 

THE close of stormy careers is nearly always 
obscured by a veil of sadness, and the nothing- 
ness of human grandeur is most felt by those who 
have possessed it. Such was the sentiment of Cath- 
erine de' Medici. The race of Valois was dying out. 
The crafty Florentine had expended so much trouble, 
anxiety, and intrigue wholly in vain. The Bdarnais 
was bound to reign. "Deceive not thyself," says 
Bossuet; "the future has events too strange, and loss 
and ruin enter by too many gates into man's fortune 
to be everywhere arrested. Thou dost impede the 
water on this side : it penetrates the other, it bubbles 
underneath the ground. You think yourselves well 
guarded on the environs : the foundation sinks below 
you, the thunderbolt strikes above. But I shall 
enjoy the fruits of my labor. What! for ten years 
of life ? But I have regard to my posterity and my 
name. But perhaps posterity may not enjoy them. 
Perhaps, also, it may. And such fatigue, such labor, 
without ever being able to wrest from fortune to 
which thou dost devote thyself, more than a wretched 
perhaps!" 321 



822 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

Still more preoccupied with the future than with 
the present, Catherine did not cease to consult the 
stars. She was alwaj^s hoping that favorable omens 
would come to dispel the gloomy presentiments that 
disturbed her heart. She had erected a column beside 
her new residence (the H6tel de Soissons), on the top 
of which Cosmo Ruggieri conducted his astrological 
operations. The greatest minds of the sixteenth 
century lent credence to predictions. "It is proba- 
ble, "said Machiavelli, "that the atmosphere is full of 
intelligences which announce the future out of com- 
miseration for mortals." The son of the alchemist 
of the Medici family, Ruggieri, the elder, who had 
drawn Catherine's horoscope at her birth, and who 
was a mathematician and a physician as well as an 
astrologer, Cosmo Ruggieri had acquired a myste- 
rious influence. The Queen-mother spent whole 
nights in his laboratory. But the stars did not reas- 
sure her. It had been predicted to her that three of 
her sons would wear the crown of France, and yet 
their dynasty would not be perpetuated. This seem- 
ingly improbable prediction had now become a cer- 
tainty. Francis of Alengon had died in 1584, and 
Henry III., the sole survivor of Catherine's four 
sons, had no children. The Florentine's favorite 
motto, Priidentia fato major^ was not realized, and 
destiny was to be stronger than prudence. 

No matter whither she turned her eyes, Catherine 
saw nothing but occasions of uneasiness and sadness. 
She who had had ten children felt that her race was 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 323 

about to perish. Her daughter, the Queen of Na- 
varre, gave her the keenest pain. Nor was she better 
satisfied with Henry III. This cherished son, upon 
whom she placed all her affections, was destined 
to disillusionize her completely. To frill a lace, to 
wreathe a velvet cap Avith pearls, or ornament the 
sleeve of a doublet with diamonds, such were tlic 
favorite occupations of this effeminate prince, in 
whom maternal blindness had seemed to discover a 
great man. Catherine, who has been wrongfully 
accused of the systematic corruption of her sons, was 
the first to suffer from the puerilities and extrava- 
gances of the King. She groaned at the sight of an 
intelligent mind losing its native qualities one by 
one, and subsiding into complete abasement. Irri- 
tated, as Queen Marguerite says, "by the boundless 
conceit of the young people " who surrounded Henry 
III., she quitted the Louvre, and installed herself in 
the H6tel de Soissons. Her remonstrances were no 
longer heeded. Persuaded that if the bark Avent 
adrift it was because the great Queen-mother no 
longer held the helm, she suffered from the kind of 
disgrace into which she had fallen. The King now 
obeyed nothing but his whims and caprices. There 
was no sequence in his policy. After having de- 
ceived all parties, he had alienated all of them. The 
ground was failing under his feet. Things were 
becoming so bad that Catherine was obliged to aban- 
don her involuntary inaction, and reappear on the 
scene to tr}^ and save her son. 



324 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

The Catholics had become as dangerous to royalty 
as were the Protestants themselves. The Duke of 
Guise had created a state within a state. May 9, 
1588, he entered Paris against the orders of his sov- 
ereign. His partisans called him the defender of 
religion, the pillar of the Church, the saviour of his 
country, the Maccabseus of France, the Just who had 
come to confound the court of Herod. They kissed 
his garments. They covered him with flowers. They 
asked him to touch rosaries. A young girl, emerg- 
ing from the crowd, threw herself on his neck, cry- 
ing: "Good Prince, all is saved now, since you are 
among us ! " And yet the Duke of Guise was not 
without uneasiness. The night before, in passing 
through Soissons, he had requested the praj^ers of 
the Minims, the reformed Franciscans, of the city. 
Uncertain of the reception he might get from the 
King, whose orders he had so audaciously braved, he 
went, immediately on his arrival in Paris, to the 
hotel of Catherine de' Medici, and asked her to lead 
him to the Louvre. At this moment Henry III. had 
passing inclinations to destroy his dangerous rival. 
"I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be 
scattered," said the Abb^ d'Elbene in the King's 
council. '''' Per cutiam pastor em^ et dispergentur oves.'''* 
Catherine feared nothing more than such a resolution. 
She thought ever}^ thing might yet be saved by calm 
and prudence, but that to touch the Duke of Guise, 
while the anger of the Parisians was so hot, would be 
to bring on terrible catastrophes. The Queen-mother, 



AND TIER CONTEMPORARIES 325 

anxious to see moderate counsels prevail, got into a 
sedan chair and was taken to the Louvre. The Duke 
of Guise followed her on foot, his head bare, and his 
expression benevolent and firm, and acknowledging 
by courteous salutes the nois}' evidences of popular 
joy. "Hosannato the Son of David," shouted the 
delirious crowd. The approaches of the Louvre were 
thronged by an immense multitude during the inter- 
view between Henry III. and his audacious subject. 
The Balafre bowed respectfully. " What brings you 
here ? " said the King very sharply. Tlie Duke alleged 
in answer his desire to dispel the suspicions against 
him, and to offer his services to the King in quieting 
the disturbances by which the city appeared to be 
threatened. "I entreat Your Majesty," he added, 
"to place confidence in my fidelity and affection, and 
not to be influenced by the passions and evil reports 
of those whom he knoAvs not to wish me any good." 
"Did I not order you," replied Henry III., "not to 
come here in a time so full of suspicions, but to wait 
awhile longer?" — "Sire," returned the Duke, "your 
meaning was not represented to me in such a way as 
to make me suppose my coming Avould be disagree- 
able to you." The dialogue threatened to become 
venomous. The Balafre, in spite of his coolness, 
had not seen undisturbed, as he ascended the royal 
staircase, the hostile faces of the guards drawn up in 
double lines. He asked himself if he were to go 
out alive from the Louvre. Catherine then took her 
son aside, and saying a few words in his ear, con- 



326 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

jured him to let the Duke depart. The latter bowed, 
laying his hand on his heart, and excusing himself 
on account of his fatigue, slowly withdrew, without 
being followed or saluted by any one. 

Clamorously welcomed by the crowd, who had 
thought him dead already, the Balafre was conducted 
in triumph to the Hotel Guise, soon to resemble a 
citadel. The Queen-mother understood the gravity 
of the situation better than any one. Making a final 
effort to avert a conflict, she brought about another 
interview between Henry III. and the Duke of Guise 
in the garden of her hotel. This second attempt at 
reconciliation succeeded no better than the first, and 
the populace, irritated by the arrival of the Swiss 
regiments, covered the city with barricades (May 12, 
1588). When the news of this popular movement 
reached the Louvre, the King was at table with the 
Queen and Catherine de' Medici. " He was entirely 
unmoved, but the Queens were astonished by it, par- 
ticularly the Queen-mother, who shed great tears 
throughout the entire repast."^ Catherine wept, 
but she was not discouraged. The Louvre, besieged 
by fifty thousand rioters, had only four thousand 
unarmed guards for defenders. The circle of the 
barricades kept growing narrower, "so that," as said 
an eyewitness, "unless they could fly in the air like 
birds, or go underground like rats and mice, it was 
impossible for the arquebusiers, the SavIss, and the 
King's officers to get out of this labyrinth." 

1 Becit di'un Bourgeois de Paris. Manuscript Dupuy, 



AND HER CONTEMPOUAllIES 327 

Henry III. seemed to be ruined. People talked 
of nothing less than wresting away his crown, ton- 
suring him, and sending him to end his days in a 
cloister. Catherine de' Medici, at sight of such a 
danger, dried her tears, called up all her moral 
forces, and relying still on her marvellous talent for 
negotiation, she went to seek the Duke of Guise. 
The journey across the city was not easy. " The 
Queen-mother could hardly get through the streets, 
so thickly sown and narrowed by barricades, that 
those who guarded them would make no greater 
opening than was necessary to admit her sedan chair." 
Nothing can show better than this the prestige which 
still attached to Catherine's person. It was to her 
the Duke of Guise had paid his first visit on arriv- 
ing at Paris, and now, in open riot, all heads were 
still uncovered in presence of the mother of the King 
whom the Leaguers were trying to dethrone. The 
Balafre received her with the utmost respect. They 
were discussing together, point by point, the details 
of an arrangement, when a messenger arriving in all 
haste, announced tidings to the Duke which made 
him turn pale : Henry III. had just fled from Paris. 
" I am betrayed," said the Balafrd to the Queen-mother. 
*' While Your Majesty is amusing me, the King leaves 
his palace with the intention of making war on me." 
Catherine professed to be as much astonished as the 
Duke by what had just happened. Then she re- 
turned tranquilly to her dwelling. During this time, 
Henry III., who with some fifteen gentlemen had 



328 CATHEEINE BE' MEDICI 

escaped through the fields which were still clear, 
was flying with all speed, cursing the capital, and 
swearing that he would only re-enter it through a 
breach. 

Not having even time enough to arrange his spurs : 
"What does it matter," he exclaimed, "I am not 
going to my mistress 1 " Catherine, on her return to 
the H8tel de Soissons, congratulated herself on the 
skill and presence of mind she had just evinced. 
Once more she had retarded the fall of the house of 
Valois 



XVII 

THE DEATH OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

DANGER had redoubled the energy and activ- 
ity of Catherine de' Medici, who remained in 
Paris seeking to moderate the Duke of Guise and 
save the crown of Henry III. She had herself car- 
ried to the midst of confraternities, and to the armed 
market-places, in a litter. She said to everybody, 
that she was trying to establish perfect accord be- 
tween the League and royalty; that all misunder- 
standings would be removed, and that the King, full 
of charity and clemency, would presently return to 
his good city of Paris. 

Convinced that conciliation was the only means of 
averting the storm, she had never been more amiable 
toward the Duke of Guise. She overwhelmed him 
with courteous attentions, and neglected no means 
of disarming the wrath of the Leaguers. Her ad- 
dress and her skill in negotiation were so consum- 
mate, that she induced the Balafre to go with her to 
the King, who was at Chartres. Accompanied by 
the Duke, the Cardinals of Bourbon and Guise, the 
Duchess of Nemours, and the Prince of Joinville, 
she urgently entreated Henry III. to return to Paris. 

329 



330 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

It is said that when the monarch declined to grant 
this request, Catherine began to weep, and said to 
the King: "My son, what will be thought of me, 
what conclusion do you want people to come to? 
Can it be possible that you have changed your dis- 
position, which I have always found so easy to for- 
give?" Irritated by the applause which everywhere 
greeted the Duke, Henry III. could hardly conceal 
his anger. He forbade the officers of his household 
to visit him. "Several of them, not daring to go 
thither by day, did so by night, particularly the 
barrack captains, who offered him guards and assist- 
ance in case any attempt were made against him."^ 
Catherine was constantly repeating to her son that 
prudence is the chief quality of a political man, and 
that difficulties which seem' inextricable may be re- 
solved by the aid of quiet procrastination ; she told 
him that as the Duke of Guise was momentarily the 
stronger, he must employ gentle means with him. 
Henry III., who was silently preparing his revenge, 
accepted his mother's advice. The Balafre was 
appointed Lieutenant-General of the realm. By the 
edict of union signed at Chartres, July 1, 1588, the 
King swore not to lay down arms until the heretics 
were destroyed, ordered his subjects to take a like 
oath, and gave places of safety to the League. The 
edict likewise stipulated the perpetual exclusion of 
heretics from the throne, the admission of Catholics 

1 Histoire maniiscrite de la ville de Chartres, by Canon Souchet. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 331 

only to public employments, and a general amnesty 
for the past, especially for the Day of the Barricades. 
Finally the States-General were convened at Blois. 
The Duke of Guise assumed the manners of a master 
of the palace, and Henry ITT., concealing his plans of 
vengeance, affected those of a sluggard King (un roi 
faineant). 

As to Catherine, who had never adopted violent 
means but once throughout her whole career, and 
who had regretted that deviation from her customary 
line of conduct, she sought persistently to deter her 
son from acting rashly; but the King would not 
listen to her. Transported by hatred, he had but one 
desire: to get rid of the Duke of Guise. He did 
not acquaint his mother with his new resolves. She 
occupied apartments below his in the castle of Blois ; 
but as he knew very well that she would blame him 
severely if she knew what he had in mind, he took 
good care not to tell her. While he was arming the 
forty-five to strike down the Duke, he Avarned them 
to make no noise, because his mother Avas quietly 
sleeping on the floor below that on which the murder 
was brewing. 

When the Duke of Guise had given up the ghost, 
Henry III. hurried down to Catherine's chamber. 
"Madame," he cried, "now I am the only King; I 
have no companion any longer, the King of Paris is 
dead!" — "What! my son," responded the Queen- 
mother, " you have had the Duke of Guise murdered ? 
Have you foreseen the consequences? God grant 



332 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

you may not be King of nothing at all ! You have 
cut it finely, but I am not so sure you can sew it up 
again as well." Then she advised her son to write 
to the cities which sided with the defunct, and to 
make all speed to acquaint the Papal Legate. 

Catherine's political sense divined the storms 
which so violent a step would bring about the King's 
head. Gnawed by anxieties and care, ill in soul and 
body, she was crushed by emotions too strong for her 
enfeebled nature. Cardinal Bourbon had been ar- 
rested at the time when the Duke of Guise was 
murdered. Catherine, although suffering greatly, 
had herself carried to the apartment where the prelate 
was detained, in order to promise him a speedy deliv- 
erance. " Ah ! Madame, " exclaimed the Cardinal on 
seeing her ; " this is some of your work : it is just in 
your style; you are killing all of us." This accusa- 
tion, an unjust one, moreover, affected the old Queen 
deeply. On returning to her chamber she went to 
bed never to rise again. 

Some time previous, as she was recalling the 
different phases of her troubled and tempestuous 
career, she had bethought herself of the cloister of 
the Murate, where she had found refuge during the 
siege of Florence. She expressed her desire to know 
whether any of the nuns who had seen her as a child 
were yet living, and sent to request the sisters 
of the convent to continue praying for her deceased 
friends : for the late King, her husband, for the two 
Kings, her dead sons, and for Henry III. and her- 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 333 

self, asking, especially, that in their prayers these 
venerable women should invoke the celestial bounty, 
"that it might be given her to see France re-estab- 
lished in that prosperity and splendor in which she 
had found it when she came thither as the betrothed 
of the Duke of Orleans/' This prayer was to remain 
unanswered. Catherine's dying eyes rested on noth- 
ing but subjects of dread and sorrow. She no longer 
believed in the success of her labors, a thing essen- 
tially grievous to political personages. The fruit of 
her toils was ruined. The house of Valois was about 
to vanish into the abyss. January 5, 1589, she dic- 
tated her will, declaring herself, in the presence of 
notaries, unable to sign it on account of weakness, 
" lying ill in bed, but, nevertheless, sound in sense, 
memory, reason, and understanding, and considering 
that the days of all human creatures are brief, she is 
unwilling to pass from this world into the other 
without making her will, as befits a Christian prin- 
cess." ^ She expired the next day, fourteen days 
after the Duke of Guise, and in the same castle. 
She was sixty-nine years and seven months old. 

Her death produced very little impression. No 
one rejoiced at it, and no one lamented. Her disap- 
pearance from the political stage, where for many 
years she had played so great a part, excited neither 
emotion nor regret. The great moderatress, mode- 

1 Archives de Chenonceaux, published with an introduction by 
the Abbe Chevalier. 



334 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 

ratrice degli affari, as a Venetian ambassador styled 
her, had made no partisans because, instead of espous- 
ing the ideas and hatreds of the rival factions, she 
had tried to manage and conciliate them all. This 
see-saw system of hers had often succeeded; but the 
stormy passions of the epoch could not accommodate 
themselves to it. A burlesque epitaph was composed 
for her which had great success : — 

" La reine qui ci-git fut un diable et un ange, 
Toute pleine de blame et pleine de louange, 
EUe soutint TEtat, et I'Etat mit a bas ; 
Elle fit maints accords et pas moins de debats ; 
Elle enfanta trois rois et trois guerres civiles, 
Fit batir des chateaux et ruiner des villes, 
Fit bien de bonnes lois et de mauvais edits. 
Souhaite-lui, passant, enfer et paradis." ^ 

Like all who have played great parts in the desti- 
nies of a nation, Catherine de' Medici will long be 
discussed by historians. She will have apologists 
and detractors ; her name will be in turn the object 
of exaggerated eulogies and violent invectives. After 
anathemas written in melodramatic style will come 
dithyrambs in that of Brant6me, and the paradoxi- 

1 The queen who lies here was a devil and an angel, 
Loaded with blame and loaded with praise, 
She upheld the State and put down the State ; 
She caused many an agreement and many a dispute ; 
She produced three kings and three civil wars ; 
She built castles and destroyed cities. 
Made many good laws and bad decrees. 
Wish her, passer-by, hell and paradise. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 335 

cal rehabilitations which are just now in fashion. 
Few judges will have the impartiality necessar}^ to 
apportion the good and evil, to recognize what there 
was of meanness and what of grandeur in the r61e of 
the famous Queen-mother, to show forth under its 
diverse aspects one of the most complex and remarka- 
ble characters recorded in history. 



XVIII 



CONCLUSION 



WHILE Catherine de' Medici lay dying in 
the castle of Blois, two women, the widow 
and the sister of the Duke of Guise, were stirring 
up the fire of vengeance in the inhabitants of Paris. 
Every one flew to arms, the shops were closed, the 
tocsin sounded, stations established in every quarter. 
Paris was in a state of siege. More than a hundred 
thousand persons marched in procession through the 
streets, blowing out torches and crying: "Thus is 
becoming extinct the race of Valois ! " Nothing 
could equal the Duchess of Montpensier's hatred for 
the murderer of her two brothers. Her female vanity 
united with her family sentiments and ambitious 
projects to exasperate her against Henry III., who 
had, it was said, disdained her charms. She limped 
a little, and she knew that the King had jeered at 
this slight infirmity. She never forgave such jests. 
Haughty, violent, vindictive, she had displayed, 
some months before the Day of the Barricades, a pair 
of scissors which, she said, would answer to give 
the monastic tonsure to Henry of Valois. 

The mother of the Guises, Anne of Este, whose 

336 



CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 337 

first husband had been Francis of Guise, and her 
second the Duke of Nemours, was not less irritated. 
She was at Blois when her two sons were murdered, 
and was at first kept a prisoner by Henry III. A 
fcAV days afterwards, the King caused the Cardinal 
of Bourbon, the Prince of Joinville (who had become 
Duke of Guise on his father's death), the Duke oi 
Elbeuf, and the other captives to embark on different 
vessels, and went down the Loire himself with this 
sad company, whom he was about to leave in the cas- 
tle of Amboise. " O great monarch! " exclaimed the 
Duchess of Nemours, turning her tearful eyes toward 
the faQade of the castle of Blois, decorated by a statue 
of Louis XII., her maternal grandfather; "O great 
monarch! did you build this castle only that the 
children of your grandchild might be murdered 
there?" The Duchess of Nemours had been only 
four days at Amboise when Henry III. set her at 
liberty. She went to Paris where no one called her 
anything but the Queen-mother. There she found 
her daughter, the Duchess of Montpensier, and her 
daughter-in-law, Catherine of Cleves, widow of the 
Duke of Guise, who was brought to bed with a 
posthumous daughter a few days later. The mourn- 
ing of the Parisians was suspended on account of 
the birth of this infant, who had the city of Paris 
for godmother. 

They say it was the Duchess of Montpensier who 
armed the hand of Jacques Clement. Springing 
forward to meet the messenger who brought her tid- 



338 CATHEBINE DE' MEDICI 

ings of the murder: "Ah! welcome, friend I" she 
cried. "But is it true, at least, that this wretch, 
this traitor is dead? God! how content 3'ou make 
me ! There is but one thing I am sorry for, and that 
is, that he did not know before he died that 'twas I 
who struck the blow! " Then turning to the women 
of her suite, and alluding to the threats made by the 
King: "Well, how does it seem to you? Isn't my 
head firm? It appears to me it doesn't shake as 
much as it used to." Then the Duchess hastened to 
her mother and the pair, intoxicated Avith joy, entered 
a carriage, saying to the people who crowded around 
them: "Good news, friends, good news: there is no 
Henry of Valois in France any longer! " Followed 
by an innumerable throng, they reached the church 
of the Cordeliers and alighted from the carriage. 
The Duchess of Nemours ascended the steps of the 
high altar, and harangued the people, who joyfully 
applauded her. 

"Thus sadly terminated by three brothers, like 
that of the Capets, this most unhappy race of the 
Valois, a race which would be accursed if the genius 
of art were not beside it to veil its faults and vices, 
if the miserable death of its last three kings did not 
awaken profound sadness and commiseration in the 
soul."^ The majority of the women whose portraits 
we have essayed to sketch were already in their 
graves. The heroines once so brilliant and so be- 
praised were scarcely remembered. 

1 LavallSe, Histoire des FranQais. 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 339 

Diana of Poitiers had died, April 22, 1566, forgot- 
ten by the court of which she had been the idol. In 
her will she made particular provision for religious 
houses to be opened for women of evil lives, as if, 
in the depths of her conscience, she had recognized 
the likeness between their destiny and her OAvn. 

Two years later, at the end of 1568, the beautiful 
Elisabeth of France, wife of Philip II., the queen of 
peace and bounty, Isabel de paz y de bondad, as the 
Spanish called her, had died at the age of twenty- 
four, after having experienced profound grief and 
melancholy in the sombre palace of the Escurial, the 
prison of her youth and beauty. 

February 18, 1587, Mary Stuart had laid her head 
upon the block. " She would not permit the execu- 
tioner to disrobe her, saying she had not been accus- 
tomed to the service of such a gentleman. She took 
off her robe herself, kneeled down on a square of 
black velvet, and presented her head to the execu- 
tioner, who, contrary to the privilege of princes, 
caused her hands to be held by her valet so that 
he might strike the blow more securely. Then he 
showed the severed head to the people, who began to 
shout: Long live the queen! And, as in this dis- 
play her head-dress fell to the ground, it was seen 
that weariness and vexation had, at the age of fort}-- 
five, made this poor queen, who had once carried off 
the prize of beauty from all women in the world, 
quite white and hoary-headed. " ^ Distracted by 

1 Journal- Memoire of Pierre de I'Estoile. 



340 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 



political preoccupations, the court of France did not 
even attempt to avenge the unfortunate victim, and 
in the following year Henry III. sought the alliance 
of Queen Elizabeth of England. 

Catherine de' Medici herself, Catherine who had 
made such a grand figure in Christendom, and whose 
name had been so many times re-echoed, was to be 
forgotten even more quickly than Mary Stuart. This 
famous Queen-mother, this celebrated Florentine, 
" adored and reverenced as the Juno of the court," 
had no sooner breathed her last sigh than, to use 
L'Estoile's expression, "they made no more account 
of her than if she had been a dead she-goat." 

The wives of Charles IX. and of Henry III. were 
still living. One of them retiring to Austria and 
the other to Chenonceaux, these two widows, who 
were widows indeed, spent their lives in almsgiving 
and prayer. From the depths of so much destruction 
their gentle voices rose to heaven, and implored from 
God forgiveness for the departed. Elisabeth of 
Austria died in 1592, mourned by all who had had 
the happiness to approach her. Louise of Vaude- 
mont lived until 1602, as faithful to the memory 
of Henry III. as if that prince had been worthy of 
regrets. 

As to Marguerite of Valois, her old age resembled 
the rest of her existence. In 1590, on the very day 
when Henry IV. won the battle of Ivry, the Marquis 
of Curton, who had taken possession of Auvergne for 
the King, cut in pieces an army corps containing the 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 341 

last defenders of this princess. Marguerite beheld 
them all perish from the terrace of the castle of Usson. 
When Henry IV. had made his abjuration, he refused 
to see her again, and forbade her to call herself the 
Queen of France. He wished to divorce her; but so 
long as Gabrielle d'Estr^es lived. Marguerite refused 
this. After the death of the favorite she herself 
signed a demand of nullity, presented to Pope Clem- 
ent VIII., based upon the fact that mutual consent 
had been lacking to the marriage. The Pope dele- 
gated certain cardinals and bishops to proceed to an 
examination of the two spouses. Marguerite ex- 
pressed her desire, since she must be interrogated, 
to be so by persons "more private and familiar," her 
courage being unequal to support such a degradation. 
"I am afraid," said she, "lest my tears should make 
the cardinals believe me under some force or con- 
straint, which would be prejudicial to the result the 
King desires (October, 1599)." Henry IV. showed 
himself affected by the attitude of his former com- 
panion. " I am very well satisfied with the ingenu- 
ousness and candor of your procedure," he wrote to 
her, " and I hope that God will bless the remainder 
of our days with a fraternal affection, combined with 
a public felicity, which will render them very happy." 
Thenceforth he called her his sister. 

Returning to Paris in 1605, she ended her days 
there in that blended piety and coquetry which 
formed the basis of her character. Always good- 
natured and affable, but licentious, extravagant, 



342 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

lacking common-sense, she could not give up gallan- 
tries and love. Her desire to appear at the Louvre 
fetes made her shut her eyes to the place she occu- 
pied there; she was present at the coronation of 
Maria de' Medici, and took rank there after the 
King's sister. She lived at Paris, in the H6tel de 
Sens, without any title but that of Queen Margue- 
rite. Disgusted with this abode after one of her 
favorites had been murdered there, she built herself 
a house in the vicinity of the Pr^ aux Clercs, and 
laid the first stone of the Augustinian Convent. 
Uniting the love for sacred and profane things, which 
to some women seem not incompatible, she gave 
much alms and did not pay her debts. Around her 
figured unworthy favorites, and also an almoner who 
was to be the hero of charity, St. Vincent de Paul. 
Marguerite survived Henry lY. and lamented him. 
She died March 27, 1615, in her sixty-third year. 
Her last days had been profoundly sad. A prey to 
fits of discouragement or terror, she shuddered at the 
approach of death. Having sought for happiness 
outside the path of duty, she recognized, but too late, 
that it can only be found in the practice of virtue. 
With Marguerite disappeared the last heroine of the 
Valois court. 

The most immoral epochs are perhaps those 
which give rise to the greatest number of salutary 
reflections. The heroines of the court of the last 
Valois, if one seriously studies them, and analyzes 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 343 

their sorrows, anxieties, and remorse, afford the mor- 
alist precious subjects for meditation. The more 
pride, ambition, and voluptuousness there is in the 
career of these women, the better they make us com- 
prehend the poverty and inanity of the passions to 
which, in their blindness, they surrendered soul and 
body. 

On scrutinizing their history, it is very quickly 
perceived that they never encountered true happiness 
in the disorders into which they plunged. Ambi- 
tious, they saw the scaffolding of their intrigues 
blown down by the lightest whisper. Proud, they 
suffered the most cruel humiliations. Voluptuous, 
they found anguish underlying pleasure. " Of the 
goods we possess," says Montaigne, "not one is free 
from some mixture of evil and incommodity. 

. . . Medio de fonte leporum, 
Surgit amari a liquid, quod in ipsis Jioribus angit. 

Our extremest pleasure has a certain note of groan- 
ing and lamentation. Would you say that it is 
dying of anguish? Even when we conjure up an 
image of it in its perfection we do so by means of 
morbid and painful epithets and qualities : languor, 
softness, feebleness, faintness, morhidezza^ a great 
testimony to their consanguinity and consubstan- 
tiality." Vice carries its own punishment within 
itself, and if there is something melancholy even in 
the midst of its pretended joys, what shall one say 
of its vexations, its regrets, and its sufferings ? 



844 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

In the sixteenth century as in other epochs, women 
are not truly great save by the qualities which are 
the ornament of their sex : the qualities of the heart. 
Neither the importance of political situations, the 
eclat of adventures, the prestige of luxury and power, 
the splendor of youth and beauty, imparts to them the 
real charm. Their misfortunes are more interesting 
than their successes. We love Mary Stuart in prison 
better than Mary Stuart on the throne, and the holy 
women who, like Elisabeth of Austria and Louise of 
Vaud^mont, keep themselves quietly in the shade, 
are both more attractive and happier than they who 
seek the glare of daylight and applause. 

During the siege of Florence, when Salvesto Aldo- 
brandini sought to force Catherine de' Medici from 
the cloister of the Murate, which was her asylum, one 
remembers that Catherine said : " Go, tell my mas- 
ters that I will become a nun, and spend my whole 
life near these reverend mothers." Who knows if 
it would not have been better for the little Florentine 
if this promise had been kept? Who knows whether 
the obscure cloister would not have been preferable 
to the glittering galleries of the Louvre and of Che- 
nonceaux? Perhaps the frieze habit of the nun 
would have been lighter for Catherine's shoulders 
than the queenly mantle. She would have been pur- 
sued neither by the invectives of her contemporaries 
nor those of posterity. 

Read the depths of the souls of these queens, these 
favorites, with whom everything seems to succeed. 



AND IIEB CONTEMPORARIES 345 

What miseries do you not find under a brilliant sur- 
face, what chagrins, what anxieties beneath the roofs 
of palaces ! Amid the victories of opulence and sen- 
suality, Diana of Poitiers wrote to Madame de Mon- 
tagu : " When will you come to visit me, Madame, 
and my good friend, for I am very desirous of a sight 
of you, which would console me in all my vexations ? 
And look you, they often rise to the utmost pitch, 
Avhich makes one believe that the abyss is on high! " 
As she touches the summit of her fortune, the all- 
powerful mistress experiences that trouble, that dis- 
quietude which is the chastisement of satisfied am- 
bition. When she reigns amidst the marvels of 
Chenonceaux, that "charming castle, flowered, em- 
blazoned, flanked by handsome towers, adorned with 
caryatides, outlined by balconies with gilded orna- 
ments from top to bottom," there are hours when all 
these fleurons^ these arabesques seem tinged with 
blood, when gloomy thoughts penetrate this "sylvan 
and luxuriant grove, watered by fountains, verdant 
as an April field," and when the favorite hears the 
distant lecho of the angry and vengeful cries of the 
victims of her cupidity. 

If a Diana of Poitiers, a Catherine de' Medici, a 
Mary Stuart, a Marguerite of Valois, could come from 
their sepulchres to speak to us of life and death, 
what severe lessons would they not give us ! How 
they would edify us concerning the results of 
that worldly prudence which the Apostle St. James 
qualifies as "earthly, sensual, devilish," that pru- 



346 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

dence by which one thinks to deceive others and 
deceives himself alone! How they would instruct 
us as to the true value of human tilings ! How they 
would say anew to us, concerning riches, grandeur, 
and glory, the words which a great saint never ceased 
repeating: ''Quid prodestf What is the good of it?" 

What tears at the bottom of all these histories! 
Who would not exclaim with L'Estoile, after the 
stor}^ of Mary Stuart's death: "Behold a most tragi- 
cal life and a true picture of the vanity of worldly 
grandeur. And then, go and make great account of 
worldly honors and their felicities!" These two 
women so much admired, these two queens prouder 
of their beauty than of their crown, Mary Stuart and 
Marguerite of Valois, expiated their triumphs, one 
by execution, the other by the humiliations which 
certain women find worse than death. How many 
reflections could not a Bossuet make on the vicissi- 
tudes of these fortunes, so fruitful in great lessons ! 
Do not the women of the court of the last Yalois say 
to us, like those of the court of Louis XIV. : " No, 
according to w^hat we have just seen, health is but 
a name, life is but a dream, glory but an appearance, 
graces and pleasures but a dangerous amusement." 

Another remark occurs to our mind as we termi- 
nate this study: it is that, under the latest Valois, 
religion is badly understood, badly practised, ob- 
scured by fanaticism, disfigured by human passions ; 
and yet that it is still the only light shining in the 
night, the only power that in presence of pride and 



AND HER CONTEMPORARIES 347 

debauchery utters the names of humility and chastity, 
the only force which represents the moral sense and 
duty. In spite of all their efforts, the persecutors, 
the torturers, do not succeed in denaturalizing re- 
ligion. It survives their blasphemies and crimes. 
The abuses, the excesses committed in its name 
cannot destroy its beauty. Men wish to convert it 
into an instrument of perdition, but it remains a 
cause of salvation. If you could take from these 
kings the little Christianity remaining to them, they 
would be monsters of tyranny, Asiatic despots, Neb- 
uchadnezzars, Belshazzars. If you could tear from 
these favorites, these grand ladies, the faculty of re- 
morse that religion gives them, they would be mere 
vile courtesans, Messalinas, frenzied pagans. Even 
Henry III., when he kneels before God, is not so 
hypocritical as one thinks; he sometimes casts an 
envious glance toward the obscure destiny of some 
poor monk, burying his hopes and sorrows in the 
depths of a cloister. The most depraved natures have 
their returns toward God when they ask themselves 
whether, after all, penitence would not be the wisest 
of schemes. In spite of all the scandals of their 
careers, the last Valois died good Christians. 'Tis 
religion which restores the great female sinners of 
this epoch. 'Tis it which rehabilitates Mary Stuart 
and gives the head of that unhappy Queen an aureole 
which will shine throughout the ages. 'Tis it, in 
fine, which saves a society ploughed up by so many 
elements of dissolution, so many causes of moral and 



348 CATHERINE BE' MEDICI 

material ruin, and rescues it from barbarism, from 
vandalism, and from irretrievable decay. After the 
storm will come the rainbow. The dynasty of the 
Valois will become extinct, but France will not 
perish. 

A philosophic, a Christian, sentiment disengages 
itself from all the crises, adventures, and tragedies 
of a period so violent and so troubled. What re- 
mains of all these agitations, quarrels, intrigues, 
these ferocious or feverish passions ? In thinking of 
the silence that succeeds so great a tumult, one medi- 
tates and communes with himself. From amidst the 
ruins and the tombs rises the most eloquent of voices. 
'Tis the great, the sacred voice of history, -which 
reduces the things of this world to their true propor- 
tions, which teaches us, by the spectacle of cele- 
brated misfortunes, to endure the daily miseries of 
life, and which by evoking the past, diffuses over 
the present a consoling and instructive charm. 



INDEX 



Albret, Jeanne d', her birth, 58; 
forced to marry Duke of Cleves, 
59, 60; her marriage annulled, 
60; her strong character, 12-i, 
248; marries Antoine of Bour- 
bon, 249; becomes a Calvinist, 
249 ; her harshness and severity, 
250 ; her stern religious attitude, 
251 ; birth of her son Henry, 251 ; 
goes to court of France to ar- 
range marriage of her son Henry, 
254; her arrival in Paris, 255; 
shocked by the corruption of 
Paris, 255, 256; her distrust of 
the court of France, 256, 257 ; her 
attitude towards Catherine de' 
Medici, 257; her death, 258, 259; 
her burial, 260. 

Albret, Henri d', marries Mar- 
guerite of Angouleme, 49, 57; 
his words at birth of Henry of 
Navarre, 251, 252. 

Alen9on, Duke of, marries Mar- 
guerite of Angouleme, 13, 19; 
dies, 28. 

Alva, Duke of, espouses Elisabeth 
of France for Philip II., 188; 
counsels massacre of Huguenots, 
223; unable to influence Cath- 
erine de' Medici, 223, 224. 

Amboise, executions at, 125, 193, 
194. 

Anabaptists, The, 52. 

Angouleme, Count of. See Charles 
of Orleans. 

Angouleme, Marguerite of. See 
Marguerite of Angouleme. 

Anne of Este. See Nemours, Duch- 
ess of. 



Anjou, Duke of, afterwards Henry 
III., persecutes his sister Mar- 
guerite, 238, 239; proposes to 
make an ally of Marguerite, 239, 
240; conceives hatred for his 
sister, 242; his perfidious show 
of friendshii? to the Duke of 
Guise, 243; his hatred for the 
Guises, 245; allegorical entertain- 
ment arranged by, 266, 267; his 
royalty in Poland, 283. See also 
Henry III. 

Ariosto, verses by, on Catherine de' 
Medici, 152. 

Aubiac, D', 126. 

Barricades, the Day of the, 326. 
Berquin, Louis de, 48, 49, 50. 
Bourbon, Antoine of, 249. 
Briconnet, Guillaume, 47, 48, 85, 

86. 
Burre, Henry, executed by Henry 

II., 179. 

Canillac, Marquis, abducts Mar- 
guerite de Valois, 318. 

Carlos, Don, 197; his jealousy of 

- his father's wife, 226, 227 ; his 
death and burial, 230, 231. 

Catherine de' Medici, gives birth to 
a son, 90, 174; her cunning, 123, 
124; her behavior at the siege 
of Rouen, 125; a Machiavellian 
woman, 130; her attendants, 130, 
131; misrepresented in romances, 
133, 134; her real character, 134; 
her importance at the court 
of the Valois, 135; different 
opinions as to her character and 



349 



350 



INDEX 



place in history, 135 et seq. ; her 
character justly estimated, 141 
et seq. ; her complex nature, 142 ; 
new light to be thrown on her 
career, 147, 148; the childhood 
of, 149 et seq. ; surrounded by 
dangers, 150, 154 ; her birth, 150 ; 
her family, 150, 151 ; loss of her 
parents, 152; verses on, by 
Ariosto, 152 ; her life in Florence, 
153; taken to the convent of 
Santissima Annunziata delle 
Murate, 154 ; transferred to con- 
vent of Saint Lucia, 156, 157; 
visits Rome, 157 ; her disposition 
as a child, 158; suitors for her 
hand, 158 ; marriage of, to Duke 
of Orleans, 159 ; leaves Italy, 159 ; 
her reception at Marseilles, 161, 
162; her marriage celebrated, 
163; her close companionship 
with Francis I., 164, 165; aristo- 
cratic prejudices against, 166; 
her attitude towards Diana of 
Poitiers and Duchess d'i^tampes, 
170, 171 ; her personal appear- 
ance, 171, 172; her fear of di- 
vorce, 172, 173; liked by the 
King and court, 173, 174; her 
numerous children, 174; crowned 
at Saint Denis, 178 ; her behavior 
towards Diana of Poitiers, 180- 
182; her care of her children, 
181, 182; her thoughtful nature, 
183; addresses Parliament, 184; 
her passion for governing, 184, 
219; her rivalry with Mary 
Stuart, 191 ; her rule begins, 195 ; 
opposes plan to marry Carlos 
and Mary Stuart, 197; urges 
Mary Stuart to leave France, 197 ; 
her weighty and trying responsi- 
bilities, 206, 207; her aim in 
ruling, 208; her religious atti- 
tude, 209 et seq. ; a good French- 
woman, 213 ; sides with Catholi- 
cism, 213-215; her intelligence 
and constant labor, 216, 217; her 
calm and easy bearing, 218-221 : 



her vacillating policy toward the 
Huguenots, 223, 224; her suc- 
cesses, 235 ; her methods in ruling 
her family, 237; her attitude 
toward Jeanne d'Albret, 257 ; her 
feeling towards Coligny, 269, 270 ; 
her share of responsibility for 
massacre on Saint Barthol- 
omew's, 275 et seq. ; change of 
her disposition, 281 ; magnificent 
entertainments offered by, to 
Polish ambassadors, 283; her 
regency after death of Charles 
IX., 293 et seq.; her study of 
omens in the stars, 322; her 
uneasiness, 322, 323; leaves the 
Louvre, 323; endeavors to pre- 
vent conflict between Henry III. 
and Duke of Guise, 326, 327, 329, 
330; accused of killing the Duke 
of Guise, 332; her last hours, 
332, 333 ; her death and its efPect, 
333, 334; burlesque epitaph on, 
334; soon forgotten, 340. 

Catherine of Bourbon, her words 
concerning Marguerite de Valois, 
254. 

Cervantes, 9. 

Charles III., Duke. See Alen9on, 
Duke of. 

Charles V. of Spain, refuses Fran- 
cis I. an interview, 31; permits 
Marguerite of Angouleme to visit 
Francis in prison, 32, 34; meets 
Marguerite, 36 ; demands cession 
of Burgundy, 36, 37 ; insults Fran- 
cis I., 88; forms alliance with 
Pope Clement VII. to subdue 
Florence, 154, 155 ; makes an ally 
of Duchess d'J^tampes, 170. 

Charles of Orleans, 17. 

Charles IX., his words concerning 
Elisabeth of Austria, 132; his 
admiration for Mary Stuart, 197 ; 
his tour through the southern 
provinces, 222; forbids Duke of 
Guise to see Marguerite de Va- 
lois, 244: marries Elisabeth of 
Austria, 245 ; proposes to marry 



INDEX 



351 



Marguerite to Henry of Navarre, 
248, 253; reported dialogue of, 
with Catherine de' Medici, con- 
cerning his interview with Jeanne 
d' Alhret, 255 ; hastens his sister's 
marriage, 2ti3; hears of wound- 
ing of Admiral Colignj^ 208 ; his 
hesitating attitude toward Hu- 
guenots, 269, 270; his share of 
responsibility for massacre of 
Saint Bartholomew's, 275 et seq. ; 
his passion for Marie Touchet, 
124, 281, 282; his melancholy 
temper, 282, 283, 284 ; his strange 
nature and habits, 284 et seq. ; 
his death, 288-291. 

Chartres, Edict of, 330. 

Chateauneuf, the Demoiselle de, 
126. 

Claude of France, 5. 

Clement VII., Pope, allies himself 
with Charles V., 154; besieges 
Florence, 155; summons Cath- 
erine de' Medici to Rome, 157 ; 
accepts overtures for Catherine's 
hand for Henry, Duke of Or- 
leans, 158; enters Marseilles to 
meet Francis I., 161, 162; cele- 
brates marriage of Catherine de' 
Medici, 163 ; supposed to have 
deceived Francis I. in his alli- 
ance, 166. 

Cleves, Duke of, marries Jeanne 
d'Albret, 59, 60. 

Cache, the, poem by Marguerite 
of Angoulerae, 78. 

Coligny, Admiral, his delight at 
reception at Paris, 261, 262 ; 
wounded by a musket shot, 268. 

Conde, Princess of, the passion of 
Henry III. for, 295 ; her death, 297. 



Delaroche, Paul, 133. 

Diana of Poitiers, her beauty, 124 ; 
the passion of the Duke of Orleans 
for, 167-169; her bitter rivalry 
with Duchess d'Etampes, 169, 
170; her influence over Henry 



II., 175 et seq. ; created Duchess 
of Valentinois, 176 ; her care of 
herself, 179, 180; her attitude 
toward Catherine de' Medici, 180- 
182 ; forced to return her jewels, 
190 ; her influence at an end, 190 ; 
her death, 339. 

Diplornatie venitienne, la, 147. 

Dolet, his Latin ode to Marguerite 
of Angouleme, 12. 

Don John of Austria, his admira- 
tion for Marguerite de Valois,306; 
meets Marguerite de Valois, 310. 

Eleanor, sister of Charles V., 37, 41, 
169. 

Elisabeth of Austria, 132 ; her mar- 
riage to Charles IX., 245 ; crowned 
Queen of France, 246 ; her Chris- 
tian character, 246, 247; her 
words on hearing of the massacre 
of Huguenots, 274; her fidelity 
to Charles IX., 290 ; her last years 
and death, 292, 340. 

Elisabeth, daughter of Charles IX., 
291. 

Elisabeth of France, joins Charles 
IX. at Bayonne, 222, 224, 225; 
her birth and marriage, 225, 226 ; 
devotion of her subjects, 227,228, 
234; her affection lor France, 
228, 229; a tragic legend concern- 
ing, 229, 2.33; her death, 231, 232, 
339 ; her lovely character, 233. 

Erasmus, his letter to Marguerite 
of Angouleme, 11 ; his letter to 
Francis I., 48. 

Iiltampes, Duchess d', 27 ; her bitter 
rivalry with Diana of Poitiers, 
169, 170; vanquished by Diana 
of Poitiers, 176; sued by her 
husband for the salary of the 
government of Brittany, 177. 

Iiltaples, Lefevre d', 46^9. 

Ferriere, Count Hector de la, his 
collection of the lettsrs of Cath- 
erine de' Medici, 147. 



352 



INDEX 



Flagellants, the, at Avignon, 298. 

Florence, revolution in, 153; be- 
sieged, 155 ; capitulates, 157. 

Francis I., his remark concerning 
a court without women, 3; his 
place in history, 7 ; his nature, 7 
et seq. ; Henri Martin's estimate 
of, 8 ; imprisons the daughter of 
Marguerite of Angouleme, 14; 
admiration of his mother for, 18 ; 
appears at court of Louis XII., 
18; run away with by a horse, 
19; his character according to 
Henri Martin, 20 ; acquires glory 
by the battle of Marignan, 
20, 21; magnificent opening of 
his reign, 21; loses battle of 
Pavia and made prisoner, 26; 
his religious feeling, 26; his de- 
votion to Mademoiselle d'Heilly, 
27 ; composes poetry in captivity, 
27 ; patriotic letter to the parlia- 
ments of France, 27, 28; devotion 
of France to, 28; transferred to 
Spain, 29, 30 ; received by Span- 
iards with respect, 30; refused 
interview with Charles V., 31; 
imprisoned at Madrid, 31 ; his 
humiliation, 31, 32; asks for 
his sister, 32; very ill, 34, 35; 
visited by his sister, 34, 35; 
convalescing, 36; abdicates the 
throne in favor of the Dauphin, 
37, 38 ; his conditions of captivity 
improved, 41; returns to France 
in exchange for two of his sons, 
42, 43 ; his sense of obligation to 
his sister, 43 ; his attitude towards 
t'ae Reformation, 48-50 ; defied by 
the reformers, 52; resolves to 
treat heresy with severity, 52; 
burns six victims, 53 ; addresses 
the court, parliament, and am- 
bassadors, 53; orders suj^pres- 
sion of printing, 54; faithful in 
his attachment to his sister, 54, 
55; determined to prevent mar- 
riage of Jeanne d'Albret with 
son of Charles V., 58, 59 ; marries 



Jeanne d'Albret to Dul^e of 
Cleves, 59, 60 ; his health declin- 
ing, 62, 63; his death, 64; his 
taste and talent for poetry, 76, 
77; receives Pope Clement VII. 
at Marseilles, 162, 163; his gal- 
lantry, 163; his knowledge and 
good judgment, 164; his pas- 
sion for hunting, 164 ; constantly 
changing his abode, 165. 
Francis II., his passion for Mary 
Stuart, 192 ; his early death pre- 
dicted, 193 ; his death, 195. 



Gaurico, Luke, his prediction con- 
cerning death of Henry II., 189. 

Guise, Duchess of, 125. 

Guise, Charles de, Archbishop of 
Rheims, 175, 176. 

Guise, the house of, favored by 
Henry II., 175. 

Guise, Henri de, his appearance 
and manners, 243; the love of 
Marguerite de Valois for, 242, 
243; marries the Princess of 
Porcian, 244; accused of wound- 
ing Admiral Coligny, 268 ; enters 
Paris against orders of Henry 
HI., 324; a dangerous rival to 
Henry III., 324, 327; murdered 
by Henry HI., 331. 



Heilly, Mademoiselle d'. See 
Duchess d'Etampes. 

Henry II., the influence of Diana 
of Poitiers over, 175 et seq. ; 
causes Catherine de' Medici to be 
crowned, 178; his execution of 
heretics,. 178, 179; his verses to 
Diana of Poitiers, 180; the end 
of his reign, 184; his weakness 
and follies, 187 ; opposed by Par- 
liament, 188 ; killed by Mont- 
gomery, 189. See also Orleans, 
Henry, Duke of. 

Henry HI. flees from Poland, 294, 
296; his life in Poland, 295; his 



INDEX 



353 



passion for the Princess of Conde, 
295; his stay in Austria and 
Italy, 296, 297; mourning the 
death of the Princess of Conde, 
297, 298 ; joins the Flagellants at 
Avignon, 298; his fancy for 
Louise of Vaudemont, 299; his 
coronation and marriage, 301; 
torments his wife, 302; forces 
Marguerite de Valois to leave 
the court of France, 315 ; excuses 
himself to Henry of Navarre, 
316; his effeminacy, 323; his 
crown threatened, 324-327; flees 
from Paris, 327, 328 ; his hatred 
of Duke of Guise, 330, 331 ; mur- 
ders Duke of Guise, 331 ; his 
death, 338. See also Anjou, Duke 
of. 

Henry of Navarre, his birth, 251; 
his early bringing up, 252, 253; 
presented to Henry H., 253; re- 
ceives news of his mother's death, 
261 ; his arrival at Paris, 261 ; 
his lack of sympathy for his be- 
trothed, 262, 263; his marriage 
ceremony and festivities, 263- 
267; his position at court after 
Saint Bartholomew's, 307; leaves 
court of France, 308 ; his weak- 
nesses and excesses, 314 ; refuses 
to receive his wife after she is 
driven from court of France, 
316 ; is prevailed upon to take 
back his wife, 317. 

Heptameron, the, as a literary 
work, 92, 93, 94; the scene of, 
95 ; the synopsis of, 95 e^ seq. ; 
the serious element in, 102; phil- 
osophical reflections in, 103, 104; 
vindication of rights of women 
in, 104, 105; the types of character 
in, 105, 106 ; freedom of speech in, 
106, 107 ; the literary style of, 
110. 

Huguenots, the, threaten ven- 
geance for the wounding of 
Coligny, 269 ; hesitating attitude 
of Charles IX. toward, 269, 270; 



massacre of, on Saint Bar- 
tholomew's, 273 et seq. 

La Bruyere, his verdict on Rabelais, 
4,5. 

Leonardo da Vinci, 21. 

Lorenzo the Magnificent, 151. 

Lorenzo IL, the marriage of, 151; 
his death, 152. 

Lorraine, Cardinal, 197, 198, 300. 

Louise de Vaudemont, Henry III. 
conceives affection for, 299; her 
character, 299-303; her be- 
trothal to Henry III., 300; her 
marriage, 301 ; faithful to her 
husband's memory, 340. 

Louise of Savoy, 17 ; her descrip- 
tion of her son's dangerous ad- 
venture with a horse, 19; her 
devotion to her son, 18, 19; ex- 
tract from her journal concern- 
ing her son's victory over the 
Swiss, 20, 21. 

Louvre, the, besieged, 326. 

Luther, 45. 



Machiavelli quoted, 129, 130, 141. 

Marck, William de la, Duke of 
Cleves. See Cleves. 

Margot, Queen, nickname for Mar- 
guerite de Valois, 124. 

Marguerite of Angouleme, estimate 
of her character, 5-7, 10-16 ; M. 
Luro's words concerning, 10, 11 ; 
Sainte-Beuve's estimate of, 11 ; 
Erasmus's letter to, 11 ; Dolet's 
Latin ode to, 12; Brantome's es- 
timate of, 12; her marriage to 
the Duke of Alen9on, 13, 19; her 
daughter imprisoned by Francis 
I., 14; her sad life, 14-16; her 
birth and parentage, 17 ; her 
remarkable talents, 17, 18; ap- 
pears at court of Ivouis XII., 18; 
devoted to her l)rother, 19; the 
most brilliant woman at the 
court of Francis I., 23; her lofty 
character, 24, 25; her letter to 
her imprisoned brother, 27; letter 



354 



INDEX 



to Marshal de Montmorency, 
28 ; loses her husband, 28 ; letter 
to her brother when he was 
transferred to Spain, 29, 30 ; 
visits her brother in j)rison at 
Madrid, 32, 34, 35 ; verses written 
during her journey to Madrid, 
33, 34; prays at her brother's 
bedside, 35 ; meets Charles V. 
for negotiation, 36, 37 ; favorably 
impresses the Council of Spain, 
36; arouses interest of Eleanor, 
sister of Charles V., 37; returns 
to France, 38, 39 ; extracts from 
letters of, to Francis I., 40, 41; 
her religious faith, 44 et seq. ; 
her religious correspondence with 
Guillaume Briconnet, 47, 85, 86 ; 
marries Henri d'Albret, 49, 57; 
attacked by religious enemies, 
50, 51, 54; her religious poem, 
Miroir de I'dme pecheresse, 51, 
52, 78; her fidelity to Catholi- 
cism, 55, 56; poverty the result 
of her second marriage, 58 ; issue 
of her second marriage, 58; her 
life during her last years, 60-63 ; 
her grief at her brother's death, 
65, 66 ; her poems mourning her 
brother, 66-68 ; her religious 
life after her brother's death, 68, 
69; her death, 70; mourned by 
her subjects, 70; poem dedicated 
to her by Ronsard, 71, 72; Ni- 
sard's graceful tribute to, 73; 
her literary work, 74 et seq. ; her 
literary talents compared- with 
her brother's, 78 ; her volume of 
poems, 78 et seq. ; her devotion 
to her brother, 62-66, 77, 78, 84, 
87-89 ; her correspondence, 84 et 
seq. ; her letter on the birth of a 
son to Catherine de' Medici, 90 ; 
her wit and wisdom displayed in 
the Heptameron, 98 et seq. ; her 
vindication of the rights of 
women in the Heptameron, 104; 
her truth to life in the Hepto.m- 



eron, 92, 106 ; her character and 
her place in history, 108-110, 
113; her literary ability, 110- 
112; misrepresented in novels, 
111, 112; her noble nature, 113 
et seq. ; her sad career, 113, 114; 
universally respected, 116; her 
exquisite sensibility, 118, 119. 

Marguerite de Valois, her beauty, 
124, 131, 237, 238, 305, 306; her 
marriage, 125; d'Aubiac's words 
concerning, 126; her birth, 237; 
persecuted by her brother, Duke 
of Anjou, 238, 239 ; promises her 
brother her assistance, 241; her 
feelings for her mother, 242 ; her 
affection for the Duke of Guise, 
242, 243 ; slanderous stories con- 
cerning her relations with the 
Duke of Guise, 244; her mar- 
riage with Henry of Navarre 
arranged, 253, 254; her marriage 
ceremony and festivities, 263- 
267; uneasiness of, the night 
preceding Saint Bartholomew's, 
272, 273 ; her character, 304 ; her 
marriage unhappy, 306, 307 ; her 
love for La Mole, 307 ; her read- 
ing and meditation, 309; visits 
Flanders, 309, 310; meets Don 
John of Austria, 310; visits her 
brother, Duke of Alen^on, 311; 
joins her husband, 311, 312; her 
life at the court of Nerac, 313; 
her disagreements with her hus- 
band, 313, 314; returns to the 
court of France, 314; forced to 
leave the court of France, 315; 
returns to her husband, 317 ; at 
Carlat and Usson, 318, 319 ; com- 
pared with Mary Stuart, 320 ; her 
old age, 340; her last days, 341, 342. 

Marguerites, Les, de la Marguerite 
des Princesses, a volume of 
poems by Marguerite of Angou- 
leme, 78. 

Mary Stuart, her influence at the 
French court, 123, 124; brought 



INDEX 



356 



up by Catherine de' Medici, 182, 
183; her marriage, 184, 186; her 
beauty, 191, 192; the passion of 
Francis II. for, 192; retires to 
the convent of Saint Peter, 195 ; 
verses written during her grief, 
195 ; her farewell to France, 198- 
200; her arrival in Scotland, 
200; her sad fate, 201, 202; the 
sympathy of posterity for, 202- 
205 ; her death, 339. 

Marot, Clement, 48, 49, 74. 

Medici, Catherine de'. See Cath- 
erine de' Medici. 

Medici, the, family, 150, 151. 

Mendoza, Cardinal, his harsh words 
to Elisabeth of France, 225. 

Me'rimee, his words concerning 
massacre of Saint Bartholo- 
mew's, 275, 276. 

Meyerbeer, 127. 

Michael Angelo, 22. 

Miroir de Vdnie pecheresse, poem 
by Marguerite of Angouleme, 51, 
52, 78. 

Montmorency, Marshal de, 28, 32, 
54, 235. 

Montpensier, Duchess de, 124, 126 ; 
her hatred for Henry III., 336; 
her joy at his death, 338. 



Navarre, Henry of. See Henry of 
Navitrre. 

Navarre, Marguerite of. See Mar- 
guerite of Angouleme. 

Nemours, Duchess of, 337. 

Nerac, the court at, 313, 314. 

Noirmoutiers, Marquise de, 126. 



Orleans, Charles of, 17. 

Orleans, Henry, Duke of, after- 
wards Henry II., marries Cath- 
erine de' Medici, 159; becomes 
the Dauphin, 167 ; his passion for 
Diana of Poitiers, 167-169. See 
also Henry II 



Paris, barricaded by the Leaguers, 
326 ; in a state of siege, 336. 

Philip II. wishes to marry his son 
Carlos to Mary Stuart, 197 ; weds 
Elisabeth of France, 225, 226 ; sus- 
pected of poisoning his wife, 229, 
230 ; his pitiless nature, 233, 234. 

Poems of Marguerite of Angou- 
leme, 33, 61, 66-68, 80-83. 

Poems of Francis I., 77. 

Protestantism, in France, the de- 
velopment of, 210, 211. 



Rabelais, 4, 8, 11. 

Raphael, 22. 

Reformation, the beginnings of, 

44 et seq. 
Reumont, Alfred de, his work on the 

youth of Catherine de' Medici, 

149. 
Rheims, Archbishop of. See 

Charles de Guise. 
Rome taken by assault, IbS. 
Roussel, Gerard, 52. 



Saint Bartholomew's, i25, 126, 273 
et seq. 

Sainte-Beuve, his estimate of Mar- 
guerite de Valois, 11. 

Saint-Germain, the edict of, 235, 
236. 

Satj/res et des Nymphes de Diane, 
poem by Margaret of Angouleme, 
78. 

Scott, Walter, 133, 202. 

Sixteenth century, society in the, 
3-5, 8-10, 11, 127 et seq. ; immor- 
ality of, 128-130; new discoveries 
in the history of, 133 ; its appeal 
to the imagination, 133. 

Stile de la reine Jehanne, the, 254. 



Touchet, Marie, passion of Charles 

IX. for, 124, 281, 282. 
Tournon, Cardinal de, 238. 



356 



INDEX 



Valois, Marguerite de. See Mar- 
guerite de Valois. 

Valois, the heroines of the court 
of, 342-348. 

Vaudemont, Louise de. See Louise 
de Vaudemont. 



Women of the sixteenth century, 
3 et seq. ; their influence under 
reigns of the Valois, 123 et seq. ; 
the nature of, 125-128 ; their im- 
morality, 128-132. 



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